‘Oooh, Mummy said a bad word,’ I hear Leo say as he bounds into the kitchen, his school shirt half-untucked from his grey trousers. I note there’s an inch gap from the end of his trousers to his feet, pink skin visible. Damn, those boys are growing too quickly. I don’t want to fork out on new uniform really, not when the school I’m hoping to get them into in Kent has black trousers as its uniform.

‘I said shoot, actually.’

‘It’s not right to tell lies, Mum. Nanna says so.’

‘Well, she’s right, of course. People shouldn’t tell lies. I’m sorry.’

Leo grins with what appears to be a smug satisfaction. Kids these days. Because I’ve not gone immediately to help Finley, he hollers again. I find him standing in the hallway in the middle of piles of shoes, boots, and wellies that he’s dragged from the under-stair storage space.

‘Finley! Was there any need to make such a mess?’ I haven’t got the time, or energy after my sleepless night to put everything back neatly before taking them to school now.

‘Got it!’ He holds up his bag triumphantly, steps over the chaos he’s created and goes into the lounge. The bag had been to the side; there’d been no need to pull anything out in the first place. I kick some of the shoes back underneath the stairs, then bend and sweep the rest under with an arm. It’ll have to do for now.

‘Right, come on then, my little destroyer – let’s get out of here. And you, Leo. Get your school bag please.’

‘I don’t know where it is,’ he says. I suppress the wail building inside my lungs.

‘Where’s the last place you remember seeing it?’

‘In my bedroom. I took it there when Dad and Nanna dropped us back after Maccies on Friday.’

‘Have you checked there?’ My voice is filled with an exasperation I haven’t felt in ages. It’s not the end of the world, and it goes with the territory. It’s only a few things that have been slightly annoying this morning, but my lack of sleep and my worry about the missing viewer from yesterday have all taken a toll,and I’m snappy and irritable. I just want this morning to go smoothly so I don’t turn up to work a tight ball of stress before even beginning the day.

I don’t bother waiting for a reply, I run up the stairs to look for it myself.

It’s not there. Now I come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing it over the weekend. What’s the betting it’s in Nick’s bloody car.

‘Anything important in it?’ I ask when I get back downstairs.

‘My lunchbox, my spellings and my reading folder,’ he states clearly.