He had evidently seen things differently to me.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ he said to Alistair.

Alistair retrieved the ball and threw it past him into the empty net, his face a picture of innocence.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘Grabbing my daughter? What the hell is that about?’

‘Nobody grabbed anyone,’ he said, his voice neutral. ‘Water polo always includes a bit of rough and tumble.’

‘Rough and tumble?’ Sean repeated. His voice had taken on an edge I had only heard once or twice before, his Limerick accent hard and loud. ‘Are you having a laugh?’

‘You’re drunk, Sean.’

‘And you’re a bloody pervert.’

Alistair turned and began to wade towards the steps in the shallow end. ‘I’m not listening to this.’ He turned to Jake and Ethan. ‘Come on boys, game over. Time to get out.’

‘Hey!’ Sean shouted, going after him. ‘I’m talking to you!’

Alistair ignored him, water flowing off him as he climbed the steps out of the pool and picked up his towel. Sean caught up with him, grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

‘I said, I’m talking to you. You know she’s only sixteen, right? And you know what that makes you?’

Veins were standing out in Sean’s neck and arms, his face a mask of rage, his hands clenched into fists. He was taller, broader than Alistair, and in much better shape. I hurried towards them along the side of the pool, dreading what was about to happen.

‘Sean,’ I said, ‘I don’t think that was how it—’

‘I saw what he did,’ Sean said. ‘Grabbing at her.’

Alistair, drying himself with the towel, cocked his head slightly to one side and gave Sean a concerned smile. His counselling face, Jennifer had called it once.

‘I don’t think that’s quite how it happened, Sean.’

‘Fuck off! I saw you do it.’

Ethan climbed out of the pool and Jake followed him, both keeping an eye on their dad in case punches started being thrown for real.

I could see that Alistair was in an impossible situation. What was he supposed to say? It wasn’t me who grabbed your daughter’s breasts, Sean, it was my son. And I was trying to stop my other son from punching his lights out, OK?

I put a hand on my husband’s arm.

‘Sean?’

He seemed not to notice, jabbing the smaller man in the chest with his forefinger. Once. Twice.

‘You’re full of shit.’

Alistair looked down at the finger.

‘You know,’ he said, his voice shaking slightly, ‘technically that’s assault.’

‘I tell you what, you put your hands on my daughter again and I’ll show you what assault is. I’ll technically take your fucking head off, how about that?’

Russ stood up and put both arms between them, shifting the two men apart slightly.