Sarah counselled on spiritual matters, said Vipassana meditation could help. ‘Your best days are still ahead of you, Chris. See this as an opportunity. Remember how much we love you, how much you make me laugh.’

Biddy confirmed she was there for me, suggested I might benefit from therapy. ‘There’s no shame in it, Chris. I go from time to time. You just blab, and they have to listen, it’s their job. And you know I love you, right? I mean you really know it?’

‘Yeah, I love you too,’ I said. ‘You too, Sarah.’

I leant in, the three of us holding each other.

‘Your cuddles are amazing,’ Sarah said to Biddy, not moving.

‘I love cuddles,’ Biddy said.

‘I love them too,’ I said.

Sarah pulled back slightly, still holding on, looked at me. ‘What is it you need, Chrissy? What can we do to help each other, the three of us?’

‘Just time,’ I said, inhaling them both. ‘The truth is, I start missing everyone as soon as I have a minute to myself. But I need that feeling.’

I now had a rostered evening to myself every Monday evening – well, two hours, given the kids went to bed at eight and me, whenever possible, at ten. Two hours, during which Sarah, going by the first two attempts, would want to chat or argue … And who wouldn’t want to chat or argue with their wife? Or Biddy would text … And who wouldn’t want to text back and forth with their girlfriend? Or Zac would come for dinner then hang around to furnish me with details of his sex life … And who wouldn’t want to be furnished with details of Zac’s sex life?

I carried the final bundle of clothes into the house, paused at the kids’ door – sleep tight, my lovelies – went into the bedroom, heard Sarah going into the bathroom, reunited socks with their estranged partners. The dry clothes could go in the cupboards, the wet onto the backs of chairs.

I’d phoned a therapist – Mel’s, highly recommended – and run through the main points, the pressure of keeping two women happy, my fear of breaking down, because, yeah, I couldn’t do that, not in front of Biddy or Sarah, I’d probably start crying and –

‘What would happen if you started crying in front of them?’ the therapist said.

‘Well … nothing,’ I said, scratching my head. ‘They’d be totally supportive. They cry all the time and they’re both really loving. Do you think I’d benefit from therapy?’

‘Um, how can I put this?’ she said. ‘Yes.’

I’d agreed to book an appointment as soon as my calendar allowed, which would be …

I paired more socks, folded T-shirts.

I’d looked up the therapist’s website to see if I’d want to bang her brains out. I probably would. Someone, anyone, wet and wanting, me taking them on the back of a chair …