‘Yes. Yes, I agree. I just want my children back. What will the arrangements be? I mean, when does this begin? When will I have them?’

The solicitor finds another piece of paper, which, from a distance, looks hurriedly written out in longhand.

‘These are the suggestions. Pending your approval.’ I can’t believe it. I’m being given options. ‘The arrangement will begin immediately. My client suggests that every other weekend would be a good arrangement, with Friday, Saturday, Sunday constituting the visitation period and Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday the mirroring period every other week.’

That will suit Emma. She’s been dying to get rid of them so she can have Jack to herself. I bet she’s doing cartwheels. He continues.

‘Mr Atkinson would be happy to collect and drop off the children at Mrs Atkinson’s property. There is a concern that Mrs Atkinson does not confront Mr Atkinson’s partner and this will save any unnecessary upset for the children. There was also a concern about the dilapidated state of the property—’

‘No. I want Mrs Emma Atkinson to bring and collect the children. Under the circumstances. I am an adult and I can act like one. I have no issue with Mrs Emma Atkinson. And, by the way, I’m Dr Atkinson. Not Mrs.’ They’re all watching me carefully. ‘The house will be fine by Friday. I’m having it deep cleaned. And that’s all fine with me. But I’ll be meeting the children at the door. I’d appreciate it if Mrs Atkinson left them at the door.’

I can hear my voice, calm and even. My hands on the table, palms down. I didn’t need the vodka after all. I look up and he’s looking at me now. I smile a little and he nods a little, then it’s over.

Mrs Porter looks over a document prepared by his bent solicitor. In advance. I didn’t even need to confront him like I did. He was already defeated. When she is satisfied, we both sign it.

‘So. Can I trust you to make the rest of the arrangements between yourselves? I hope that we don’t have to see you back here again. This is about the children, you know. What’s best for them. Don’t let them down.’

Jack gets up and leaves, his solicitor in tow. I want to chase after him, thank him, even though he’s giving me something that is mine already. I rise from my chair, elated, but Mrs Porter blocks my way.

‘Have you got a minute? Only I have a few concerns.’ I sit back down. I knew there had to be a problem. She sits and looks at the papers. ‘OK. Two things. We had an anonymous report about the state of your home. Someone sent in a photograph and it seems that there are some, er, space issues.’

I smile politely. I can hold this down.