“We remortgaged the house when we split the assets. So your mum would take half to pay for her care and you and I would be financially protected. But it’s been too expensive. I don’t get as much freelance work as I used to and our savings are wiped out. With you moving out next year, it made sense to downsize.”

I hate hearing this. He sounds like he’s trying to convince me that this is an entirely practical decision, devoid of any emotional baggage, and I’ve heard that before.

I remembered hearing them talk about it before they told me they were getting a divorce. I know you’re thinking Well, it’s not an affair if they’re divorced, Saoirse, but it wasn’t meant to be real. It’s only for money reasons, they said. We aren’t breaking up, they said. We love each other very much, they said.

I hid behind the kitchen door watching them through the crack. I listened behind doors a lot back then. They were talking money again. Some waffle about protecting the house as an asset. It was Mum’s idea actually; her care cost money. She probably wasn’t envisioning him shacking up with someone new.

“You’re not going to one of those state places,” Dad said, pounding his fist on the island. “We’ll take care of you.”

“God, Rob, please just kill me if it ever comes to that.”

“Don’t say that, love, it’s not funny.”

Mum got out of her seat and approached him. I could see her face as she put her hands on his shoulders and looked him dead in the eye.

“I’m not joking. I’d rather die than have you or Saoirse feeding me, cleaning me. I don’t want her spending her life taking care of me.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m too pretty for prison and I just don’t think our thirteen-year-old daughter has the upper-body strength to strangle you,” Dad said. I could hear a weak smile in his voice as he tried to lighten the mood.

She kissed him then, and I looked away. When I looked back she was burying her face in his neck, and I could tell she was crying.