‘We’re going to have to walk then. At least until a tram comes that has fewer people on it.’

‘No.’ Oliver threw his hands in the air, buckling at the knees. ‘We’re tired,’ Sophie said. ‘We can’t walk anywhere.’

They were tired because they’d stayed up past midnight – that’s what Kyle had told them. They’d eaten their midnight feast at half past eight, an hour past their normal bedtime, believing it to be the witching hour. But really, the witching hour was now, half past eleven on a Sunday morning, miles from home with no means of transport and the threat of revolt by a five- and seven-year-old.

Was that rain? A couple of small drops, nothing major.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. A message from Zac: Don’t suppose you fancy a coffee today, dude?

From me: Not today!

‘Let’s just keep walking,’ I said, ‘just up to that corner there.’

‘No,’ said Oliver, stamping his foot.

‘No way,’ Sophie said, stamping hers.

I leant the bike against the tram-stop railings, phoned Sarah. ‘We’re basically stuck. Where are you now?’

‘About half an hour away, hun. Lucy’s driving, I’ve just been dozing.’

‘How you feeling?’

‘Yeah, good. I feel good.’

‘That’s good. Do you think you could come get us when you get home? It looks like it’s going to start pissing down, and we’re still in North Melbourne.’

‘I can’t drive. I’m three sheets to the mainsail.’

Heavy clouds, cold breeze. But Daddy wasn’t stressed, he could do this. I rubbed my face, tried to smile, winked at Oliver and Sophie. Both looked away, their shoulders slumping. A friendly tone, I had one of those, and wasn’t in any way, shape or form losing it. ‘What if Lucy drives and one of us squishes up in the back next to the kids?’

‘She’s already running late. She was meant to get her kids an hour ago. I’m really sorry, hun. Maybe just get a taxi?’

‘I can’t get a bloody taxi,’ I hissed, covering my mouth to hide the words from the kids. ‘I’ve got my bike, Sarah. I don’t have a lock.’

‘OK, Chris, Jesus. I’ll get you. I’ll try to sleep some more just now then text you when I’m at the house, OK? Love you.’

‘OK. Yeah. Cheers.’

Oliver kicked the railings, a plaintive clang. Sophie looked at me, shrugged.

‘That was Mummy,’ I said. ‘She’s going to pick us up but she’ll be a little while. We should start walking, just to stay warm – and, hey, we might even beat Mummy to the house, we might win the race, we –’

‘I hate walking,’ Oliver said.

‘Me too,’ Sophie said.