‘Seeing other people. It’s not exactly working out the way I’d hoped. The most important thing to me is that we’re OK, you and me. And I mean, look at us.’

I pulled her head onto my chest, wanted to tell her the truth. I couldn’t stop seeing Biddy – I was smitten. And to keep that going without feeling like an awful prick, I needed Sarah to feel she could bang the whole world, even though ideally, from my perspective, we’d call a time-out and acknowledge that everyone was in love with me exclusively. I needed Sarah to –

‘We’re getting on OK,’ I said.

She sniffed. ‘Are we?’

‘Well, I think we are.’ We were smashed beyond repair, but I loved her, I did, I – ‘You know I’m really into Biddy. I have to pursue that.’

Sarah’s body tensed – no, it was still floppy. But my body, I could erupt at any second, had to bury, bury, bury …

‘But at what cost?’ she said. ‘Too many cooks spoil the kitchen.’

The kettle clicked, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

‘Yeah, no idea.’

Maybe she had good reasons for not telling me about Mick’s visit that day. Maybe I had good reasons for not telling her Zac had spilled the beans: namely, the prospect of more information.

She held, I rubbed, drew on her dark scent – remembered that we’d actually, despite everything, been growing closer, that we’d even – with Biddy’s help, at least – had sex.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘maybe Mick’s not the guy you’re meant to be with. There are other guys out there.’

‘Yeah, but none who’d want what I have to give. The kids. You. It’s not a great offer.’

‘It’s a pretty good offer. You’re really hot, for a start, and you’re open to banging without obligations. Loads of guys are into that.’

She laughed. ‘I don’t know if that’s true, hun.’ She let go of me, turned, got the tea from the cupboard – Zac’s stash was going strong – picked a black Sri Lankan. ‘I’ve been thinking, maybe I want what you have with Biddy.’

‘Exhaustion?’

‘A proper relationship, or the start of one. I know it’s only been a couple of weeks but …’

‘I thought you said you didn’t want that.’

She poured the water into her birthday teapot, shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I mean, Mick and I talked to each other, we got on well, but … I feel used.’

‘He’s being a dickhead.’ I went to the fridge, returned with the milk. ‘It’s not very respectful.’

‘No, that’s right, hun. It’s not.’

A cough from the kids’ room. My daughter was –

‘Most men are shit.’ She passed me my cup.

‘We really are.’

She turned, rinsed the tea strainer. I checked the time on my phone.