She was the ideal audience member, knew how to guffaw, clap and cry in public. I only ever pretended to applaud, moving my palms back and forth without ever making contact, repressing my emotions to the point of diarrhea. And still, she gave to me, listened to me, accepted me as I was – she even liked me as I was. I could confide in her, even about Sarah, even if I didn’t want to, even if it felt wrong; it wasn’t wrong, I had to stop seeing things that way, but fuck, holy fuck, I was running late, it was Thursday, the kids …

I waved as I was passing Biddy’s bedroom with my bike.

‘Another cuddle?’ she said from her bed.

‘And maybe a blowjob?’ Winford shouted from his room. Cedric was barking.

‘Shut up, you dickhead,’ Noel said.

‘Bye, I love you.’ I hugged Biddy, power-sniffed her neck, untangled myself quickly. ‘Thanks again for last night.’

I rode home with a full bladder and half-closed eyes. Sarah would be leaving for work in …

Sophie opened the front door, hugged me in the hallway, coughed.

‘Oh, there you are, spunky.’ Sarah propped her bike against the wall, fastened her helmet straps. ‘Right, I’ve got to go. Give me a hug, Sophie.’

They hugged, kissed.

Oliver appeared in his boxers, with messy hair.

‘Hey, mate.’

‘Hi, Dadda.’ He waved at me, leant in to hug and kiss Sarah.

‘OK, have a good day,’ Sarah said, hugging me, coffee, toffee, toothpaste. ‘Zac’s in the shower. The packed lunches are done. Your clothes are dry and on the bed. Oh, and I’m going out for a drink with Toni and Bea from work this evening, remember?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ I said. ‘See ya.’

She gave me another quick hug, could probably smell Biddy on me, put in her earphones, pushed her bike through the doorway.

I’d asked her nearly nothing about Assi, hoping my rehearsed indifference would make me seem cooler, but nearly a month had passed and I was feeling dorkier than ever.

‘OK, so if you could start getting dressed.’ I shooed Sophie and Oliver towards their bedroom, followed them, stood at their door.

Most of what I knew about Assi had been stitched together from the scraps Zac had thrown me, the hard data I’d gleaned from reading Sarah’s texts, my obsessive following of her movements on Find My Friends whenever they were out together, and my lurid imagination when the GPS marker stopped moving for the night.

‘OK, good work,’ I said to the kids.

The kitchen didn’t look like mine, more like Sarah’s and Zac’s. His boxes of tea on the bench, his dinner plate stacked with everyone else’s, the requisite empty wine bottle and stained glasses next to the sink. Marvin Gaye was playing in the bathroom, Zac singing along.