Amy falters. That’s what she had intended to do, but instead they’re inside playing a computer game and she hasn’t even managed to make a cup of tea. She’s not quite sure how this has happened.

‘It is a nice pool,’ says Carlo.

Nick glowers at him.

‘Yes, it’s lovely. Thanks, Carlo. We’re fine. We’ll come to the house and find you, if we need anything,’ she says.

Carlo picks up a glass vase that’s sitting on the worktop. She’d put a spray of the blood-red geraniums in it. He turns it in his hands and nods. She can’t tell if he’s being proprietorial – it’s his vase, and he’s making sure they know it – or if he approves of her picking the flowers. He smiles at Nick and then carefully replaces the vase.

‘Goodbye,’ he says formally.

Nick hands her the tea. ‘I couldn’t find Dad’s picture frame.’

‘I doubt he brought it.’ She sighs and wipes her eyes. ‘I guess Bethany’s right. It must be the beginning of dementia. All that stuff he said to you yesterday about not drinking. I thought he was lying, but he must genuinely not remember.’

Nick glances at the children. They’re still absorbed in the iPad.

‘What the hell was that kid doing?’

She shrugs. ‘Seeing if we’re okay.’

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, keeping his voice low.

She wants to say, Are you insane? I will never be okay, not for the rest of my life. I wake up in the morning and, for a few seconds, I feel vaguely like the woman I used to be and then I remember, and it’s as if every one of my vital organs has been cut from my chest using a kitchen knife without an anaesthetic.

‘I was thinking about Ruby-May’s anniversary. What we should do.’

‘Oh.’ Nick looks unhappy. He puts his hands in the pockets of his shorts and says, ‘It would have been her birthday, so why don’t we have a sort of party tea and cake – the kind she would have liked?’

‘What, and pass-the-parcel? Musical chairs?’

‘If that’s what you want,’ he says. His hair flops in his eyes and he brushes it away. ‘I’m going to make some coffee. Shall I do some for Luca?’

‘He never says no to coffee,’ she says, sorry that she snapped at him. ‘No speeches then? Poetry on the beach? A eulogy at dusk.’