‘Morning.’ I smile brightly. That’s who I am when I come here: bright and bubbly me. It’s not an act, though I’ve had to force it a bit lately. I’m much happier with this side of me, which has been eclipsed recently by the problems at home. Problems I hope we can put behind us now that Jason has finally agreed to accept my father’s help. I know how humiliating it is for him, that it goes against all of his principles, and it makes me love him all the more. He’s doing it for me, for his children. Because his business is failing, he sees himself as a failure, but I am so proud of him. I always have been. He’s tried so hard to turn his company’s finances around, while always trying to be the best father a man can be to his children. Children we might never have had if Jason had allowed my father to bully him when we’d first met. To bully me. My stomach clenches involuntarily, as it always does when I recall my father’s absolute adamance that I was about to ruin my life, his expression: a combination of ill-concealed fury and disappointment when he’d learned I was pregnant. What terrifies me is that, had he succeeded in driving Jason away, I might not have stood up to him. Thank God, Jason was there for me, equally adamant that there was nothing my father could do to make him stop loving me. I don’t tell him often enough how much I love him. I make a mental note to address that, starting tonight.

‘All sorted?’ John asks me.

‘Sorry?’ My mind has shifted gear. After the mad rush this morning, I’m now worrying about whether I remembered to put yoghurts in the kids’ lunchboxes.

John indicates his cheek. ‘The toothache.’