‘You made Mumma sad,’ Fergus said accusingly, before Frankie could reply. He leaned against her possessively, patting her knee with a plump hand while giving Craig an extremely disapproving look. ‘And then I was sad.’

Frankie felt her heart quiver with love for her loyal, sensitive boy, whose face was most definitely saying Team Mumma all the way. She was so choked up that she couldn’t actually speak for a moment.

‘Sorry, mate,’ said Craig, contrite and shovelling a pile of red bricks over to him by way of apology. ‘No one’s going to do any more shouting.’

‘Well, good!’ said Fergus in such a grown-up-sounding way that Frankie had to struggle not to laugh. Then he frowned in concentration as he started stacking red bricks on top of each other. ‘Now blue ones,’ he ordered, and they both fell to his command like grovelling minions.

‘Blue ones coming right up,’ Frankie assured him.

A fragile truce was maintained for the rest of the day. She and Craig were polite to one another in the presence of Fergus, but Frankie could feel a tension between them, the air still ringing with words unsaid. She had never really stood up to Craig like that before, had never called him out so bluntly on his behaviour. Partly, of course, because their relationship had always been so accordant in the past that she hadn’t needed to stand her ground and argue in such a way. They’d only really ever disagreed on small things – which film to watch on Netflix, whose turn it was to load the dishwasher – issues that nobody could get too heated about. By sticking her head above the parapet this time, by making it clear her feelings were at odds with his, Frankie couldn’t help wondering how the dynamic between them would be affected. One thing she knew for sure, though, was that there would be no turning back. The bottle had been well and truly unstoppered, the genie long since escaped.

Craig seemed thoughtful and preoccupied. He left his laptop off for the rest of the afternoon and took Fergus out to the high street, returning with a bag of picture books from the library, as well as an expensive-looking bottle of Merlot and some nice food for dinner. Frankie, meanwhile, took the chance to catch up on some work admin, but found it difficult to concentrate. It was as if they were both acting out parts that they’d usually be able to play without any effort, and yet today seemed unnatural and forced.

Later on, after they’d eaten and once Fergus had settled down to sleep, Craig turned to Frankie and asked, ‘Glass of wine?’ in a way that could only be the precursor to A Serious Chat. The Chat of Doom, she thought with a flutter of nerves.