Will still hadn’t forgiven me for having to cancel our summer holiday. What would’ve been the three of us spending ten days in Tenerife in the sunshine was replaced with four days staying with my parents in Berkshire. And it rained. Every single day. An urgent operation had come in and I’d had no choice but to go. The only proper time off I could get was a long weekend. When my parents found out we weren’t actually going to be abroad for Mum’s sixty-third birthday we were told that the long overdue visit we’d kept promising needed to happen during the family celebration she had planned. Will looking over and hissing: ‘Mojitos on the beach’ as my great-aunt regaled him in graphic detail about the effect the menopause was having on her sex-drive was a particular low point.

As I’d kept repeating to his stony face, if it had been his work stopping us going, I would’ve understood. My vague explanation of it being something to do with Brexit had not gone down well. In fairness, I had overused that excuse but it was such an easy go-to as it had just the right combination of utter fucked-up mess but being so boring no one wanted to talk about it.

‘I know things have been busy this year. But it’s all about to get better and I’m going to have a long period of time off for Christmas.’

I knew I’d been working too much the last few months and with any luck the blower I’d applied for would be approved so I could have most of December off. Blowers were Platform-approved extended periods of time off. They were so called as, considering the intense high-pressure nature of our work, it was mandated we needed weeks away from the Platform to blow off steam. And to stop us blowing off our own heads.

‘Lex, it’s got to get better. You’re hardly present. Last month my mother spent more time with Gigi in this house than you.’

That stung.

Will’s mother Gillian now lived nearby and was a huge help with Gigi. She didn’t keep track of the hours she helped with nursery pick-ups and bedtime when we were working late. But it seemed Will did.

‘I do the best I can. Yes, I work full-time, just like you, but I come home every night . . . Nearly every night.’ There were times work had taken me out of the country. Just like it had for Will. The double standard was becoming clearer and clearer. I was expected to be here. He wasn’t.

‘Wheels bus round roundy round,’ Gigi sang on flatly from the bathroom.

It was a great soundtrack to a tense marital stand-off.

‘You’re never really here. Even when you make it home you’re tired and rundown and just want to cuddle Gigi. You barely want to talk.’