I did as she said, then approached, hugged – nah, kept my distance. ‘Where are the kids?’

‘In bed already. They’re still awake. Your food’s in the oven.’ She came towards me, a peck on the lips, a hand on my hip, maybe wanted more, but fuck her, left the kitchen.

I opened the oven, a scrum of heat, closed it, the fishcakes still inside. My lunch with Zac had left a bitter aftertaste. On the way home from work I’d stopped to speed-smoke a reefer under a tree, ostensibly to calm my nerves, and it had worked for a minute or two, but my stomach was still in knots.

A cough, Sophie’s, from the bedroom. Sarah was with her, comforting her – that was good. I’d go comfort her too. And then I’d confront Sarah, ask why she’d been comforting Mick without my knowledge.

I slid some chewing gum into my mouth, stood at the bedroom door. ‘Hey, beautiful.’

Sophie shivering in Sarah’s arms. ‘Hi, Daddy. How was work?’

‘Not bad. Oh, you’re still awake too, buddy?’

‘Hey, Dadda,’ Oliver said.

I got to my knees, hugged him. ‘Mate, I’ve really missed you.’ ‘Where were you last night?’

‘With my friend Biddy. I stayed at hers.’

‘And this morning?’ Sophie said, coughing.

‘I went to work from Biddy’s,’ I said. ‘That’s still not sounding good, sweetheart.’

‘We were at the naturopath today,’ Sarah said. ‘She reckons it’s another cold that has to run its course. But she’s given us some herbs.’

‘Herbs?’

She glanced at me, at the back of Sophie’s head. ‘She was better than the doctor.’

Both kids had been born with minimal medical intervention: Oliver in hospital without an epidural, Sophie on the kitchen floor of our old place in Carlton. Sarah screaming, periodically sniffing lavender oil, spurting blood, shit and life. Sarah grunting, our midwife goading, a new baby mewling, all of us crying.

‘We got toys, Dadda,’ Oliver said.

‘From the naturopath?’

‘Yeah, look,’ said Sophie, holding up a tiny soft toy.

‘Nice dog, sweetheart.’

‘It’s a hippo,’ Oliver said. ‘Look – my one’s a rhino. Hey, Dadda, would you rather be a rhino with a splinter in its foot or a hippo with a splinter in its foot?’

‘Probably a hippo,’ I said. ‘I’d be in water most of the day so the splinter would –’

‘The kids were hoping you’d read them a story,’ Sarah said.

‘Yeah, I’d love that.’ I stood between the beds. ‘Any suggestions?’

‘Lady and the Tramp,’ Sophie said.

‘Boring,’ Oliver said.

‘What about this one?’ Sarah said. ‘Stick Man.’

‘Yeah, Stick Man,’ Sophie said. ‘Please, please, please.’

‘Lame,’ Oliver said.

‘Well …’ I took the book from Sarah, opened it, sat on the floor.