Gaia had a point: the party was a little staid. Tom looked miserable, studying his cup of organic apple juice. Clive and Derry sat in an armchair staring into the abyss of their phone screens. Maren made herself scarce – I don’t think Coco minded too much – and while I had figured that my job was done after organizing the party and hand-sewing the octopus costume, it seemed that the other three adults were expecting me to play host, too. So, for the girls’ sake, I put on a great show, getting everyone up to play Twister, which ended with Derry ramming her foot in Tom’s eye. After that, we played pass the parcel, pin the tail on the donkey, and sleeping lions. By this point Coco was falling asleep, and I told Tom I’d take her up to bed while everyone else enjoyed the cake. She hadn’t even blown out her candle.

As I gathered Coco up against my shoulder and made for her bedroom, Tom approached me.

‘Sophie.’

I braced myself for a lecture about the Epic Fail that was my attempt at an octopus cake, or a curt remark about the rubbish Twister game.

‘… I wanted to say that I really appreciate you making this birthday so special,’ he said. ‘I was dreading this, but she looked so happy in her costume and … thank you. Really.’

He sounded so sincere, so moved, that I didn’t know what to say. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ I said.

He looked at Coco asleep on my shoulder. ‘Maybe I’ll put the girls to bed tonight.’

‘Are you sure?’ I said, and he nodded.

‘Well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

He took Coco from me and cradled her in his arms, before turning to reach out for Gaia’s hand.

‘What’s Daddy doing?’ she asked me.

‘Daddy’s putting you to bed,’ I explained.

‘Come on, pudding,’ Tom rejoined. She looked from me to her father, gave a shrug, and took his hand.

I headed to my own room a little lifted. Perhaps the party hadn’t been gloomy after all. Perhaps, in some small way, I had actually done something that mattered. I imagined that Tom was probably thinking about how Aurelia would have loved to have shared this moment with him. Watching their little girl celebrate her first birthday, taking her first steps. It really was very sad.

But when I closed the door of my bedroom there was something different about the place. On the floor beside my bed was a book bound in red leather. I looked around. Had someone been in my room? Nothing appeared to be moved, but the book definitely wasn’t there earlier, and it didn’t belong to me. Maybe it was the log book Maren had said I was meant to fill out, about how the girls were getting on with their reading and so on.