‘I can’t face all of that drama, to end up with someone who’ll always be second best to Andrew.’

‘Not second best. Different.’

‘Right. Different,’ I say bluntly. ‘Let’s see. Andrew was kind and open-hearted and trustworthy, so I should try someone mean and cynical and scheming?’

‘Now you’re being awkward, Gem – that’s obviously not what I mean.’

He tries the shot again and, when he misses, he picks the ball up and pops it into the hole in the barrel and we hear the roll before it appears on the other side. Am I being awkward? I understand what Dad was trying to say – but the idea of meeting someone who isn’t Andrew doesn’t appeal to me in the slightest; I only want my husband, and how he made me feel.

But as I walk with Dad to the next hole, the thought morphs into something unexpected: into how I felt yesterday when I saw Dan. Now I understand: his face wasn’t familiar, but the feelings were. Excitement. Possibility. And something much more basic. Desire.

Even as the shock of it hits me, my body is tingling, remembering. I hadn’t met Dan before, but the connection was real. Lust at first sight.

What kind of craziness is this? I’d come from the fertility clinic where, in two weeks, they’ll try everything to make me pregnant. Why now? I haven’t been ambushed by my hormones since I was a teenager.

Unless it’s not my hormones that are causing the trouble, but the ones I’ve been taking to prepare my body for the transfer. I could ask Laura if that happened to her.

‘. . . and the one thing I know about you, Gemma, is you’re a survivor,’ my dad is saying. ‘Whatever happens this time, you’ll come through it.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to have to be a survivor. Maybe I’m allowed to want everything to go OK – for people to be what they seem, for everyone to leave me alone.’ I stop because I’m starting to sound like a child on the verge of an it’s not fair tantrum.

He sniffs and I realize I’ve hurt him.

‘Sorry, Dad. It’s nobody’s fault. I need to get through July and then at least we’ll know what’s what.’

When I get home – I won by a whisker, though Dad might have let that happen – Bear gives me an extra-enthusiastic greeting. Maybe I’m projecting my own emotions onto him, but his dark eyes seem worried.

‘It’s OK, Bear. I’m OK.’

I make myself a herbal tea and go back to working on the samples, which I’ve got to send to my agent by Monday. The commission would pay well: the client is a bank launching savings products for young families, and they want ink-and-wash images that portray different children as they grow and learn.

I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up and started a new sketch, loosely based on Kyle, the naughty boy at the back of the queue of swimmers. Often when I work to combat insomnia the results are pretty crap, but this sketch captures the dynamism of his personality, his energy and his boldness.