Craig had told the newspaper that he wanted to end his parenting column, and had gone out on a high with a truly lovely final piece about looking forward to the future. He’d signed off by thanking the readers sincerely for the tremendous support he’d received from them ever since he’d begun writing about being a dad and as a result, he had been all over social media the day the piece was published. ‘You’re trending!’ his editor had texted him excitedly, and Craig had received many heartfelt messages from the public wishing the family well. Since then they’d both found other strands of work to compensate for the demise of the column: Frankie had been commissioned to design some cards and stationery with her dragon illustrations and, having enjoyed painting Paula’s little dog, had also decided to venture into the lucrative world of pet portraits. She’d advertised her services online, setting herself up as an Etsy seller, and had already had a gratifyingly enthusiastic response.

As for Craig, among other things he had successfully pitched an idea for a new magazine column called ‘Dear Dad’, a variation on the agony-uncle idea, where he dispensed fatherly wisdom to all those in need. So far he had covered topics as far-ranging as testicular-cancer checks, the best way to wallpaper a room and handling toddler meltdowns, and was thoroughly enjoying the variety. Even more excitingly, he’d been courted by a publisher, who’d approached him about writing a non-fiction book on modern fatherhood. Flattered by the praise and enthusiasm of the editor and dazzled by the financial offer that had been made, Craig felt his star was on the rise and had wasted no time in getting stuck into the opening chapters.

He seemed much happier in general, thank goodness – back to his old genial self, now that things with Julia were gradually figuring themselves out. The three of them had met up a number of times, in the presence of Julia’s solicitor, to establish a way forward, and so far they’d managed to avoid going to court and having any official judgments made. Or bawling at one another across the table, either, which felt like progress.