There’s Cassie, my closest friend, a stay-at-home mum to Hannah. Cassie has fine brown hair which she keeps twisted up with a butterfly clip. She’s kind and can be over-serious. She is not the life and soul of the party, but that suits me fine. With her are Susanna, bossy and manipulative, and Mara and Kit, both bright, cheery women with smart cars, photogenic children, diamonds on their fingers and Instagrammably beautiful lives. I often wonder how I found myself here. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Not that I’m complaining; I’m safe and so is Lottie. At least we were until Saturday night. Now I’m scared again, anxious about what might happen. I feel like those people who are urged to evacuate their homes because the wildfires might reach them. No certainty of outcome whichever decision they take.

We were expecting Anna, but she called and cancelled, and I was glad. It’s hard enough trying to hide what’s going on around here, without putting pressure on her as well. This is not her problem.

‘I noticed Nick’s done zero steps since Saturday,’ Kit says after I’ve told them all that he’s ill. ‘Poor thing.’

I even took up a cup of coffee, to be extra convincing. It’s growing cold beside our empty bed.

Mara laughs. ‘Yeah, I saw that too. I was going to tell him to get off his backside. I’m glad I didn’t.’

‘He wouldn’t have minded,’ I say.

I should tell them the truth, the secrecy is ridiculous, but when I look round at their smiling faces the words won’t come. The mantra I grew up with, from both my mother and my gran, was: don’t tell other people our business. The reaction would be violent if I did.

‘Are you sure you can’t sacrifice a couple of hours a week, Grace?’ Susanna asks. She is after parent-readers.

As the class rep, it’s Susanna’s job to throw out a net for volunteers. I would like to help very much, but it’s impossible.

‘I’m really sorry. I can’t tie myself down to being somewhere at the same time every week. I wouldn’t be reliable enough.’

Cassie gives me a searching look. Because I work from home when I’m not visiting a site, friends and neighbours, and even the school, assume I’m available. But that’s not the real problem. The real problem is a little more complex.

I can feel my colour rise. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, biting into a brownie. The intense sweetness of the chocolate bursts in my mouth, making me feel better, less absent. ‘So, we were going to talk about the school fete. Can I put my hand up for the book stall? I’m happy to do a couple of stints on the bouncy castle as well.’