‘Oh.’ Punch, I could punch the bed, punch my face, fucking shit, fucking, fucking shit.

‘What’s wrong?’

Oliver and Sophie whispering to each other, their bare feet padding to the kitchen.

‘I’m sorry. I just really wanted some time alone. I’ve been saying that for weeks. I’m actually a bit … worried about myself.’

Biddy and I had discussed it at length. At first, she’d said the usual – ‘Oh, poor Chris, everyone loves him and he just can’t cope’ – before the penny dropped that, yes, exactly that, I was struggling to cope with so much love.

Sarah looked past my face, at the wall, took her hand from mine. ‘Yeah, OK. I can do other things. I just thought you might want to grab a coffee or get breakfast together somewhere.’

I did, but … ‘That’d take a couple of hours, and I’ve got to get the kids from school later.’

‘I thought it would be good for us to spend some time together – you know, break breadsticks, reconnect. I do miss you, you know.’

Clinking from the kitchen, bowls and plates being chipped.

That was all I wanted really, to reconnect with Sarah, to be with Biddy, for us to be a happy little polycule, for the kids to be OK. But the strain of trying to make that happen, the fear of short-changing everyone, robbing time from myself to give to others …

Sarah threw back the covers, put on her dressing-gown, stopped at the door. ‘I’ll be at home anyway if you change your mind.’

I looked at the roof, the walls. Sarah and the kids were talking quietly in the kitchen, arranging cutlery, preparing my surprise.

Something had to give. Me. I had to give.

Her phone was on the bedside table. There’d be messages from Vernon, from her BFF Zac – I could read them. Or I could not.

I reached for my phone instead, looked up fallow deer on Wikipedia: The fallow deer (Dama dama) is a ruminant mammal belonging to the family Cervidae. What? I clicked on the link for Cervidae, thought I did, ended up on the page for Antigua and Barbuda: a country in the West Indies in the Americas, lying between the –

‘Surprise!’

Oliver and Sophie came in, Sophie carrying a plate of – ‘Oh, wow’ – toast and jam, a chopped-up banana, Oliver carrying – ‘Oh, buddy, is that for me?’ – a present and two birthday cards.

‘Happy birthday,’ they said in unison.

Sarah came in with two cups of tea, the cups I’d given her, gave me one, got back into bed. The kids climbed up – ‘Careful with Daddy’s tea, darling’ – kneed me in the shins, elbowed my groin.

‘Shall I open the cards first?’

Oliver handed his to me, bouncing with joy. It was exciting – birthdays were exciting. Being alone – the prospect of that had been exciting for me.

‘Can I have some of your toast?’ Sophie said.

‘Yeah, sure.’