‘And who’s going to be there for the girls while you’re flying all over the world?’

‘Oh, come on. It’s not like they’re toddlers any more, is it? Eva’s about to head off to college, for Christ’s sake.’

‘What about Beth?’

‘She’s fifteen, Mark!’

‘I know her bloody age,’ he said, his voice low and level.

‘If you’re that concerned, we can get a child-minder or something.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not talking about someone to pick her up from school. I’m talking about someone who’ll be home in the evenings to make sure she eats a dinner and studies and gets to bed on time. I’m talking about parenting, Abi, not child-minding!’

‘This is absurd. And sexist.’

‘Don’t even think about playing the gender card.’

‘Why not? You know as well as I do that if the situation were reversed – if it was you with the chance to take your career up a gear – that you would expect me to fall over myself with gratitude and support.’

‘Abi, you clearly didn’t give my career a second thought.’

He watched her absorb the venom in his tone, then he continued:

‘What about the project I’m working on with Andrew?’

‘What about it?’ she asked, and he thought she seemed more reticent now, something sneaky in the way she turned away at that moment and started looking through her bag, checking the contents.

‘Filming starts in September. I’ll be gone for the duration.’

‘And how long will that be?’

‘Six weeks. A couple of months maybe.’

‘Is that set in stone?’ she asked.

‘Pretty much.’

‘I don’t remember us agreeing to that.’ She looked up at him now, and he saw her jaw set, readying herself to dig her heels in.

‘I told you about the project months ago,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve been working on plans, drawings – I’ve even shown them to you. How can you be so obtuse about this?’

‘I’m not being obtuse, I’m being realistic.’

‘Realistic?’

‘Well, have you signed a contract yet? Has Andrew actually paid you for any of this work?’

‘No, not yet.’

His voice lost some of its stridency, and she raised her hands in a gesture that implied she’d proven her point. It infuriated him. ‘What?’ he demanded.

‘This always happens,’ she cried, exasperated. ‘Andrew comes home, you meet for pints, and then for weeks afterwards you tinker with ideas for whatever grand project he’s boasted to you about, fooling yourself that it’s actually going to come to something, and always – always – it fizzles out. Something happens: the funding is pulled, or there’s a schedule clash, or Andrew falls out with the director … I’ve lost track of all the times he’s let you down. How can you still fall for it?’