‘No, you’re not a bit sorry,’ laughs Jack. ‘You knew well I’d be cooking breakfast while Princess Charlotte sleeps and your belly was rumbling at the thought.’

I hold up my cheek as Jack kisses me good morning and pull out a chair at the table across from Sophie.

‘You have him well trained,’ says Sophie. ‘Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d see Jack Malone being so attentive in the kitchen. He couldn’t boil an egg when we were at college, and that’s no exaggeration.’

I rub my eyes and yawn. ‘He is spoiled as well,’ I tell Sophie. ‘He gets breakfast in bed most Sundays, don’t you, honey?’

Jack is too busy singing along to one of our favourite songs to notice.

‘You tired too, Char? I’m bloody exhausted,’ says Sophie. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, planning a meeting this morning after rocking my socks off till so late last night.’

‘Try flying to Canada like I have to,’ says Jack, flipping bacon in the pan. So he is listening then. ‘I’ve approximately three hours left here before I go to the airport and I still need to grab some stuff from the cleaners.’

‘I’ll do that,’ I say to him. ‘At least I’ll feel useful for something.’

Sophie tilts her head briefly in sympathy for my sense of unworthiness while they both busy around after their careers, but before I can indulge any further, she lights up when she recollects the buzz from last night’s gig. Ah, here we go …

‘Before you go any further, missy, can you please explain what that sex god singer was talking about last night on stage about being in the same band as your brother!’ she exclaims. ‘How could you have missed that? Do you actually know him?’

Shit. A direct question. Do I know him?

‘Of course … well, I knew him at the time,’ I say, feeling my heart skip. A hot flush creeps over me. ‘He was their drummer for a while. They didn’t last long really, just less than two years, so I didn’t get to know him very well, but yes, I probably did meet him a few times.’

Sophie spreads out her hands in disbelief and bewilderment.

‘So, you’re telling me that if you’d wanted to, you could have got back-stage passes for us all last night?’ she asks like a teenage girl with a crush on a boy band. ‘Ah man, I’d love to have met them! Next time, you need to be on the ball, Char. That’s quite a claim to fame!’

I wish she would stop.

‘So, would he still remember you?’ she asks. ‘Gosh, I wonder who the girl in Dublin was who broke his heart. I bet she’s kicking herself now.’