I sat on the toilet with the lid down and light off, scrolled, found Biddy’s emergency text: You have integrity. You are –

I’d failed. Opening our marriage had given Sarah what she needed on some level, but it hadn’t endeared me to her. I was still unwanted, still wanting, to the point of fucking panic attacks.

Your hugs, which I never want to end.

Ten breaths in, ten breaths out, let’s go. One, in … out … Two … in … out … Three …

Your love of your mother, and the relationship you had with her.

Sarah and I might split up – that seemed possible. It hadn’t before, but now … Yeah, it could happen. Six … Hopes were ropes … out … Seven … Could untie themselves at any point … out … My kids, my loves … Eight … Assi, fucking Assi, what if I smashed his fucking –

You are really kind.

Nine … in … in … Nine … in … Nine …

I wanted to screw other women. I’m sorry, Biddy, I love you, but that was the awful truth. For years, I’d been cooped up in self-denial and loathing, and now there she was, being amazing and showing me, against the odds, that I was still desirable, instilling me with the belief that –

Your complete trustworthiness.

Breathe. And if Sarah was banging everyone in sight, if she could do it, and if I could accept that about her, if I could pretend to, then …

Sarah had been scoring me zero for as long as I could remember. Biddy always gave me perfect tens. What about all the fives and sixes? Why the shuttling between extremes, the bipolar by proxy? I had love to give, to share with –

Your complete trustworthiness.

It was cold, my breathing was getting … better. Let go, Chris, lean into it, breathe deeply; relax, you prick. You can talk to Biddy, talk to Sarah.

Your complete trustworthiness.

* * *

A few Tuesdays later things seemed better, just a bit.

Sophie was on Biddy’s shoulders. Oliver was on mine, his heels bashing into my chest. He was getting too heavy for me; soon I wouldn’t be able to lift him.

I needed time alone. My testosterone, oxytocin and cortisol had been elevated for months.

‘Just edge forwards a bit,’ I said, wincing, pulling at his shins, traipsing across the dusky school oval. It looked ominous, the school, all lit up.

‘Well, this is exciting,’ Sarah said. She was carrying a bag with fruit and biscuits.