Before setting off I’d texted Carly, told her Oliver was feeling sick and Sarah would stay at the farm to look after him, but we’d still love to see them in Corowa as planned – just me, Sophie and Biddy.

The tension during tea and Tim Tams hadn’t helped – Biddy trying not to seem upset with Sarah for her latex lapses, Sarah either trying to appear oblivious or genuinely oblivious to how disappointed we were. It isn’t always like this, I could have said to Chris and Carly. That vibe you’re picking up on is because Sarah’s gone bareback with a number of guys in the key demographic for heterosexual HIV transmission, and we’ve only just found out. We’re usually way friendlier with each other.

The worst bit was that I loved Chris, loved Carly, and wasn’t in any way ashamed of what I was doing with Biddy or what Sarah was doing with others, apart from the undeclared body fluids.

Twenty minutes into the drive Carly had texted: Hi chris that’s not good about oliver the poor darling send him our love and tell him we’ll see him tomorrow we’re very tired and might just have an early night happy new year love you X

‘What about just here?’ I asked Biddy.

‘Ah yeah,’ she said.

A patch of grass close to the river, one of the few spots left. Hundreds of people in clumps and configurations, kids, adults, the elderly, sparklers, laughter. I let Sophie down from my shoulders, squeezed her waist, ran my fingers through her hair, my beautiful progeny. Biddy unfolded the picnic blanket, sat, crossed her legs, roots showing through her fluoro hair.

‘I can’t feel my legs,’ Sophie said.

‘That’s OK,’ I said. ‘Wriggle your toes.’ I felt it, her numbness. When she fell or hurt her fingers, when Oliver tripped or bashed his head, I felt that too.

She wriggled one foot, then the other, looked up at Biddy and me. ‘Would you rather have three extra toes or a bum for a mouth?’

‘I’d take the extra toes,’ Biddy said.

Me too – if I had to. And the job at the university – if they offered it to me, if it all worked out.

Sophie sitting next to Biddy, me sitting next to Sophie. She used to ask Sarah and me if she could be the ham in the sandwich, sliding her body between ours when we hugged, and here she was, the beef in a new baguette.

‘You know, I’d love a daughter like you,’ Biddy said. ‘Are you excited?’

‘About two hundred per cent,’ Sophie said.

I could feel her excitement. Mine too. If I got the job. If Biddy and me and the kids could take off together, start anew.

‘Look at those sparklers,’ Sophie said.

‘Yeah. They’re beauties.’