I double-parked at the school gate, got out, unclipped Sophie from her car seat, ran round the car, helped Oliver. They stood on the pavement, their bags on their shoulders, hats crooked, hair matted, stains on their clothes. Did they look poor? Were my kids disadvantaged?

‘A hug for Daddy?’ I crouched in front of them. Fuck, I felt like crying. My luminous children.

Sophie came in close, hugged me. ‘I love you, Daddy.’

Oliver didn’t want a hug so close to school, and that was OK. That was OK, everybody. Oliver didn’t want to – his choice.

‘High-five then, buddy?’ I raised my hand. He left me hanging for a few seconds, gave me a delayed, insipid slap, turned with Sophie and started walking away. Their little legs, their tragic family life.

‘Love you both,’ I shouted to their backs. ‘More than anything else in the world.’

I did, I fucking – Why the moist eyes? There was no time for anything except – A three-point, no, four, no, five-point turn – thanks! I waved at the Subaru driver I was holding up before sinking the foot, seatbelt-prompter bleeping, racing through the streets – bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep – hitting the kerb at the house, pulling out again and reversing, yep, there, yep, engine off. Keys, keys. Back through the door, and, fucking right …

Things were OK, they were fine. On the macro level, my life was really, really good. The devil was in the detailed fucking way I had to pack my backpack of a morning. I’d bought it in simpler times to transport one set of clothes and my toiletries for the post-commute shower at work. It wasn’t designed for poly living. The zip was just about holding, but one day it would burst open, spewing my clothes across the road, into the spokes of some hapless commuter, up onto someone’s windscreen.

I grabbed it from the kitchen, took it to the bedroom. In an ideal world, I’d have packed the night before in my down time. But I didn’t have any down time and it was bringing me down, time and again.

I’d be home at five-thirty, that’s what I’d told Zac, what I’d told the kids, but you never knew these days, so … Toiletry bag – yep, in it went. Two pairs of socks in addition to those I was wearing, just in case – check. Two tops – check. An ironed shirt for work – fucking fuck.