Amy takes a breath and says, ‘We’re going to have a little party for Ruby-May, who would have been four.’

‘But the festa is in the evening! We could go afterwards,’ says Chloe.

‘Show some respect,’ Matt says. ‘And no, you’re not hanging out with Carlo’s friends. We have no idea who they are.’

‘Why can’t we see the fireworks? Ruby-May loves fireworks.’

‘We’ll be able to see them from here,’ Amy says.

‘But what about the rides?’

Dad breaks another egg. It slides into the bowl, along with some sharp shards of shell.

‘Mum would let me go. I’m going to ask her.’

‘My house, my rules,’ Matt says.

‘It’s Carlo’s house,’ Chloe says. ‘He invited me! It would be rude not to go.’

Amy starts chopping the cucumbers, faster and faster.

‘It wouldn’t kill you to go to the festival afterwards. Or I can take the children and Chloe, if you’re not up for it,’ Bethany says.

‘No! I said no!’

‘You’re such a control freak.’ Bethany grabs the bread knife and starts sawing chunks off the loaf. ‘Dad, you’re butchering that omelette.’

There’s egg on the floor, yolk is smeared in shiny streaks across the work surface, and Dad’s attempting to whisk the egg, including the bits of shell that have fallen in. Some of the beaten egg slops out of the top and spills across his shirt. He’s also turned the pan on already and the kitchen is rapidly filling with black smoke. Amy spins round, the knife still in her hand, and I half-expect her to stab it into his back. She turns the heat off and opens the back door. No smoke alarms have gone off, which isn’t a good sign.

Matt takes the bowl from their father.

‘Oh dear, I haven’t done a particularly good job of this. I used to make omelettes all the time. They were rather delicious, even if I say so myself. You enjoyed them, didn’t you, Nick?’

‘I don’t remember you ever making me an omelette in my life,’ I say.

‘I wish Joe hadn’t left,’ says Bethany, sighing and tossing a piece of bread onto each of the children’s plates.

I’d been thinking the same thing. Who’d have thought it: I’d give anything for a cheery person whizzing up a green smoothie right now. On second thoughts, I’d rather be back in Bristol, eating a bacon bap from Yummy’s van by the army surplus. Why did I insist we all went on holiday together?

‘My memory mightn’t be what it once was, but I know I spent years caring for you after your mother left.’

‘I want to go on the rides!’ Theo says.

‘Caring isn’t how I’d have worded it,’ I say.