Lottie pours three glasses of water and lays the table. I notice how careful she is to make it just so, knives with their blades facing in, forks exactly parallel. I don’t know if that’s because she’s naturally like Douglas, or because he’s made her like that.

‘Friday tomorrow,’ I say.

‘Thank God. Have we got anything on this weekend?’

‘No. Nothing. But Lottie’s out on Saturday night. We could do something.’

She and half her class are going to be at a sleepover at Hannah’s. It means a bonus evening all to ourselves, but the pay-off will be a tired and grumpy child on Sunday. I don’t envy Cassie and Evan Morgan. They did the same last year – gluttons for punishment.

The conversation rumbles on, a backdrop to the choreography of a normal mid-week evening. I barely notice it at first, but after a while I realize I’m doing most of the talking. If Nick does speak, it’s mainly to Lottie.

Nick takes a beer out of the fridge. I steam the greens. Lottie complains about her history teacher who is ‘a nut-job’, a sadist and a loser who enjoys tormenting his pupils.

‘You should feel sorry for him,’ Nick says. ‘Imagine what his home life must be like, to have turned him into such a monster. Maybe teaching is the last thing he wants to do, maybe he thought he would be a rock star.’

He could be describing his father. I dart him a look. He sounds overly jocular, like a teacher trying to buck up his class at a rainy sports day.

‘Maybe his wife’s run away,’ Lottie says.

Nick laughs. ‘Looking on the bright side. Well, let’s hope not, poor chap.’

‘You’ll never leave Nick, will you, Mum?’

‘No, of course not,’ I say. ‘He’s stuck with me, poor man.’

I glance at Nick, meaning to share a smile, but he’s not looking at me. A shadow crosses his face.

‘Everything OK?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. Fine. Supper smells good.’

The timer pings again and I take the mince out of the oven. Nick dishes up generous heaps of buttery mashed potato and Lottie carries the plates to the table.

This is my family, my little boat.

Later, I’m reading my novel waiting for Nick to come to bed. When half an hour goes by and he doesn’t appear, I pad downstairs and find him sitting at the kitchen table staring blankly at his phone.

‘Are you coming up?’