Amy and Kate’s thin frames are swamped by their stiff navy blazers. Their school logo is embroidered on the pockets with gold and red thread, their hair pulled back in neat ponytails. Their perfect ivory skin is plump and impossibly smooth. Oli finds it almost impossible to tell them apart, the only discrepancy the small mole on Kate’s left cheek.

They are the spitting image of their dead mother.

‘Eggs again,’ moans Kate, as Amy ducks her head and bites directly into the yellow mound.

‘Use your fork,’ Oli says, just as Dean enters the kitchen. His hair is still wet from the shower, and he’s wearing her favourite of his shirts, pale blue with a faint flicker of cobalt woven through the material. Just for a moment, she lets herself imagine that they’re living together in her old apartment, cooking breakfast in the pokey kitchen after waking up in the sun-drenched loft. But it’s a fantasy from ten years ago, before Kate and Amy were born. When everything was a million times more complicated and somehow so much simpler.

‘Morning, my ladies!’ Dean plants a kiss on each of the girls’ foreheads, then on Oli’s. His aftershave causes a pleasant wave of déjà vu to ripple through her.

She hands him the smoothie and drinks some of her own, blanching at the taste like she always does.

‘You’ve really nailed this now, babe, it’s perfect.’ He looks at his half-empty glass with wonder.

‘Thanks! There’re eggs too if you want some. I need to jump in the shower. I’ve got to get going.’

Dean looks guilty as she hands him a plate. ‘I was hoping you’d take the girls today. Some of the info we prepped last night has fallen through, and the press conference is at nine.’

Dean runs a PR firm that represents several high-profile individuals and organisations. He used to work in communications at the premier’s office but now makes a lot more money running his own show.

‘I don’t think I can,’ replies Oli, her short but peaceful commute evaporating before her eyes. ‘I’ve got to file a piece by midday, and I might need to jump in and help TJ on the O’Brien coverage.’

A tiny crease forms between Dean’s brows as he serves himself eggs on toast. ‘Shit.’ He closes his eyes.

Amy looks delighted. ‘Daddy! You’re not supposed to say that.’

‘Surely a pro like TJ will be fine without you?’ The slightest hint of irritation has crept into Dean’s voice, and Oli reminds herself of her promise to make more of an effort with the girls.