We’re talking, and there’s music. And while I’m loving this moment, I know it will move on. Something will be dropped or broken. Someone will be offended or bored. Mark could look at me and, despite himself, see the cold-hearted woman who drove away from a crash. I could watch him take his next mouthful and want to slap the lips that kissed Lou. Or we could reach across the table and hold hands. Charlie might come dancing out of the kitchen, the children in a happy conga line behind him. Who knows? The trick, I suppose, is to bend and move with as much of it as you can, without losing your own shape. To know that your life is this one night, this group of people, and also more than this. Also the people who aren’t in the room . . . Also the things you haven’t yet done.

After dinner, in the backyard, Sarah explains the rules of tunnel ball to Beau, Petey and Joanne, since that was the highlight of her school day. She uses a plastic ball, fished out of the pool, in lieu of the heavier medicine ball they’d used at school.

‘Nobody knows why it’s called a medicine ball. One of life’s mysteries,’ Charlie says to Petey as Sarah slaps her brother on the legs to stand wider.

Mark laughs. ‘Do not listen to your uncle.’

‘Ever,’ I say.

‘It’s called a medicine ball because the ancient Greeks encouraged their patients to throw and roll heavy balls for medicinal purposes. They thought exercise cured sickness,’ Mark says.

‘Huh,’ Charlie says.

‘Does it?’ Beau asks.

‘Some.’ Then, after quick consideration of who asked the question, Mark adds, ‘But a doctor is the best bet if you ever feel sick. Do you feel sick?’

Beau shakes his head. ‘Do you?’ he asks Mark, genuinely concerned.

‘I’m good, buddy.’

Mark, standing next to me, reaches out and takes my hand. This boy melts us. I hadn’t anticipated how immediately, ferociously protective we would be, how possessive. We’ve talked through the practicalities of adding him to our brood (challenging, expensive, but not impossible) and decided what to say should the police show up. Our main concern now is what to do if Finn returns.

Because we’re not giving Beau back. He’s only been here for two nights, but we’ve already decided he needs us. We worry at his unfamiliarity with so many things our children take for granted. The ring of a telephone makes him jump, the TV was bewildering and now far too enticing, the word ‘lunchbox’ meant nothing until I explained it. And his knowingness with adult behaviour brought out the judgemental streak in both of us.

‘What type of six-year-old knows how to help someone pierce their ears?’ I’d asked Mark after a particularly alarming conversation when I was putting Beau to bed.

‘That doesn’t bother me as much as him saying that when an adult is screaming you’re supposed to hold their hand. I mean –’ He shook his head.