‘You OK?’ I said. ‘You seem a bit glum.’

She stood, mop in hand. ‘Just this never-ending housework, hun … And I think Mick’s ghosting me.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘He seemed really into me, but now … I don’t know.’

I stuffed more clothes into the machine, dropped some underwear, Sarah’s sock, one of Sophie’s vests, my black boxers, a pair of red – ‘Whose are these? Mick’s?’

She grabbed them, opened them out, laughed. ‘Oh, yeah, no, they’re Zac’s. He must have forgotten them.’

‘So we’re washing Zac’s clothes now? I just thought they might have been Mick’s, you know, if he’d popped round here for coffee again and they’d fallen off or something.’

She tutted. ‘I probably don’t need to remind you that Zac’s been babysitting for free, Chris. We can hardly … Wait.’ She raised a hand. ‘Was that Sophie?’

Another cough.

‘The herb mix is in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘There are instructions, I’ll show you.’ She put the mop against the fridge, disappeared.

I untangled legs from arms, collars from midriffs, forced the last of the washing into the machine, stood, shook powder into the tray – she was lying, Mick had been there yesterday in his fucking leathers and red boxers. I switched on the machine, water gushed, suds formed. It had taken a fortnight to get the full story about Nikau, by which point it was –

I turned quickly, nearly suffocating with rage, kicked and split the plastic washing basket – kaboom. He’d rattled her world in the most beautiful way.

‘Chris, you OK?’ Sarah’s voice, in the kitchen.

‘Yeah.’ My fucking foot. ‘I fell over the washing basket and …’ Moderate them vocals, hide them feels. ‘Through in a sec.’

I went through, smiling, toes throbbing.

She filled the kettle, flicked it on. ‘You seem a bit funny, like you’ve got a beast in your bonnet.’

‘I’m just concerned for you, given what you were saying. Mick’s probably just busy with work or something. When did you last see him?’

‘He hasn’t texted since last Friday. I asked when we could meet, and he just sent me a kiss.’

Friday – five days ago. Since then, we’d barely communicated beyond hello, goodbye, and oh, yeah, I won’t be home tonight, and Sophie’s homework’s due, and Oliver’s science excursion needs to be paid for … For anything deeper, we had Zac, our increasingly necessary go-between.

I put my arms out to hug Sarah, started choking, nah, stroking her neck, drubbing, nah, rubbing her back – there, there, there.

She put her arms round my waist – fuck, it felt good, the oxytocin – sighed. ‘I just don’t know if this is what I want, Chrissy.’

‘A hug?’