On Sunday, I announce that I have a surprise. I bought Felix and Em new outfits online in colors that suit their complexions and Stuart a new T-shirt, which I ask them all to wear.

“Let’s go outside, guys!”

It’s a beautiful afternoon, a good sign. It’s so nice to feel in control of something, I feel almost manic with joy. I prepare a picnic with all the children’s favorites. I even buy some meat sausage rolls to show that I’m being open and happy to compromise.

I lay the table outside, creating a magazine-perfect picture. The crockery and napkins match (peach, Emily’s favorite color at the moment). I fill two jugs of water, one plain for the children, adding freshly cut slices of limes to the other. The tablecloth edges waft gently every time a slight breeze picks up.

My phone rings: Greg.

“I’m outside your front door,” he says.

I let him in with all his camera equipment and show him out to the back.

“Right, everyone, Greg has come to take some informal portraits of us all,” I say with a grin I’ve seen so many times on children’s TV presenters. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner we can have our yummy picnic with lots of special treats!”

“What’s all this about?” says Stuart.

The T-shirt is too tight on him; having me looking after him has made him regain all the weight he lost after Nina’s death.

“I’ve asked Greg to take some new family portraits,” I say. “They’re overdue. We need Jack and Goldie in them.”

“I’m not keen on the guy,” Stuart says under his breath.

“Well, he’s here now,” I say. “It’s too late to send him away.”

Perhaps Stuart did suspect or sense that there was something going on between him and Nina.

Greg has a surprisingly authoritative voice while he’s working and does not come across as the sort of person that anyone would want to disagree with, which is a relief as neither Stuart, Felix, Emily, Jack or Goldie are acting thrilled with the impromptu photo shoot. Their sulky expressions (not Jack or Goldie, of course) grate.

By the time it’s over, even I’m glad. It’s hard being on the other side of the camera—I don’t think I’ve ever fully appreciated that. It will make me a better, more patient photographer when I return to work. The children are hungry. They pile a random assortment of food onto their plates. Goldie hangs around, ever-hopeful that the children will feed her something under the table.

Greg declines my offer to eat with us, thankfully (Stuart invented an excuse to escape almost as soon as the final picture had been taken), so I accompany him back to his car.

“Thanks, Greg. Any chance you could get these to me as soon as possible, please?”

“I’ll do my best.”

He loads his bags into the trunk. This is my opportunity to talk to him.

“I know it’s none of my business, but...”

“You want to know why Camilla and I broke up?”