‘It was a physical thing. I’d never try to steal him away from you. It was – biology.’

‘Stop. Shut up.’ I feel dizzy, panic-stricken. ‘Kids, we’re going.’ I stand too quickly and one knee buckles beneath me. I grab the edge of the table.

Lou reaches for me again but I escape her and walk shakily down the few stairs that lead from the deck to the grass. I stand next to Sarah. ‘Darling, we need to go now.’

‘But we’re not finished yet.’ Sarah holds up the fuzzy tennis ball attached by a string to the pole. ‘It’s a tournament.’

‘You can finish it next time. We need to go.’

‘Abby –’ Lou stands behind me and touches my back.

I jerk forward. If my children weren’t right here I would hit her with all my strength. ‘No!’ I shout.

The kids freeze mid-motions and stare at me.

‘You’re my best friend, in the world,’ she says.

I shove her away. This much I allow myself. ‘We are not friends. And I won’t have this conversation in front of my children.’

She strokes the top of Sarah’s head. ‘Sweet girl.’

‘Stay away from her.’ I grab Sarah’s arm. ‘Petey, Joanne, come here now.’

‘I want to stay. Why can’t we stay?’ Sarah whines. She pulls away from me and plops down on the grass.

‘Get up.’ I yank Sarah to standing. She howls in outrage. The twins sense something is wrong and start to snivel. ‘Oh for God’s sake, stay here then.’ I let go of Sarah’s arm and turn to walk back through the house. I hiss at Lou, ‘Why not have my kids, too? Take everything. Don’t follow me. Do not.’ I poke her chest with one finger as she leans towards me. ‘We are done.’

She ignores me, follows me, back onto the deck, through her house where Andrew is still snoring on the couch, to the front door, talking in a loud and relentless whisper all the while.

‘He was missing you. You’re all about the kids and the house and, you know, it happens. And Andrew’s never here. I was lonely, Abby.’

I turn to face her once I’m outside. ‘You want me to feel sorry for him? For you? Go to hell.’

The rain splats down onto her drive as I walk away, my legs shaky, my eyes flooded with tears.

I nurse a gin and tonic, picturing the drink as clear glue sliding down my throat, working to hold me together internally, while the children splash about in the plastic pool. Once the rain eased, they’d wandered back home, hungry, Lou having gone to her room to ‘nap’ according to Sarah. I’m thankful that they seem oblivious to my pain, interested only in lunch and then fun. I watch as Woof cocks his leg and wees on a pile of abandoned goggles and masks.

Mark calls while I cook lamb chops, carrots and peas for the kids’ dinner. Sarah picks up the phone – her latest joy – and tells me, once the conversation is done, that Dad has a lot of work to do and will be home late, after sleep-time. He doesn’t ask to speak with me.