I order a tonic water with an extra lemon slice. As I sip it, I pretend it’s a G&T. I’ve plenty of time to allow my mind to wander as Stuart spends an absolute age studying the food choices.

I’ve learned not to interrupt when he’s concentrating. It’s counterproductive as he will only start from the beginning of the menu all over again because he’ll have forgotten.

Nina and Stuart came round for tapas at our place once. Nina was in a niggly mood because Stuart likes to be on time. Nina was always late.

Stuart and I loved drinking games.

Ben and Nina did not.

By the time we were on our third cocktail, Ben and Nina had bonded like indulgent parents humoring difficult children.

Nonetheless, it was all good-natured until Nina, out of the blue, staring at my photos I had framed all over one wall, made a strange comment.

“You have more pictures of the children than even I do,” she said. “Although there’s more of Felix than Em.”

“He’s older. And he’s my godson,” I said.

“Yes, but...there are so many.”

She shook her head a couple of times, as if there was something odd about it, as though she was trying to figure out what she didn’t like about them.

“I told her that, too,” said Ben.

I glared at him.

“You should see her photo albums,” he added, dropping me in it—whatever it was—even further.

I did have pictures of Nina and Stuart, too, plus ones of Stuart on his own or with the children. Some people are rewarding to photograph, some aren’t. It’s that simple.

“You can turn anything into something sinister if you try hard enough,” I said.

“Sinister,” Nina had repeated as though she was trying the word out.

“Are you going to have a starter?” asks Stuart. “There is a cheese soufflé or garlic mushrooms?”

Food doesn’t appeal, but I feel like he’s waiting for me to say yes, so that he will have one. I’ve got better at reading him.

“I’ll have the soufflé,” I say. “But I need to Google it first to make sure it’s okay for me to eat.”

“Nina ignored all the advice and ate what she wanted,” says Stuart, not looking up from the menu. “We were both of the opinion that as long as diet was balanced and varied enough, our babies couldn’t come to any long-term harm.”

“I’m not Nina,” I say.

“I know you’re not.” He reaches over and takes my hand. For a moment I think he’s going to say that he’s pleased.

“Nina was a risk-taker,” I say.

“And you’re not,” he says. “It’s a good thing.”

“I agree,” I say. “I’ve got something to tell you. Something really difficult and shocking and I’m not sure how to say it.”

“I don’t like the sound of this. You’re worrying me. Let me get another drink in first,” he says. “I like to receive any bad news a little numbed nowadays.”