On the drive to the swimming pool – the traffic bad, rain beginning to spatter on the windscreen – Paddy kicked the back of my seat with the hard tips of his school shoes. They were sturdy boots, a good-­quality pair we’d chosen together one Saturday, Paddy stomping proudly across the shop floor.

Now, the kicks kept coming, a steady beat, starting up again after every time I told him to stop, my voice filled with more anger each time, becoming strained then broken, torn-sounding.

You’re horrible, Mum, he shouted eventually, meeting my anger with his own, landing an extra-hard kick at the base of my spine. I cried out, pain moving down my back. Deep inside me, the ache of Jake’s presence pulsed on, a reprimand. Paddy was right, I sensed. He knew what I was.

They were both quiet for a few minutes, hushed into dulled daydreams by the world rising and falling at the windows, the steady lull of the engine under their bodies. It was when the snacks ran out that the fighting began, dark scratches of noise across silence, yells that I countered with my own.

He called me a stinking bum, Mummy!

No I didn’t! He’s a liar.

Stop it! Both of you. Stop shouting!

Someone did stink, in fact. Someone – probably Ted – hadn’t wiped themselves properly, and the smell of crusted, hours-­old child shit floated around the car, getting in our noses, our hair, under our nails.

There was more yelling, then the desperate striking of arms too small to reach across the width of the car. In my mirror, I saw Paddy trying to squirm free of his seat belt, ducking under its restraints, reaching out an arm to meet his brother’s, which were already flapping wildly in an attempt at defence.

We were driving down a long, quiet, residential street. There were no other cars in sight, no speed bumps, not even any pedestrians on the pavement. On a lamppost, a single bird shook its feathers, bent its head. I took one more look in the mirror, saw the boys making contact with each other now, squeaking with exertion, their outraged voices clear and high across the car. I could feel the rage rising, harshly familiar, a neglected friend. My nails dug into the density of the steering wheel, a pain grazing through my jaw as I clenched my teeth.