‘Well, duck-billed platypus is an essential piece of everyday vocabulary,’ I say. I look ahead to where I can just see Léa and Luca. Luca’s running ahead, as fast as his little legs can take him. Léa’s bending down to look at something. I feel a surge of happiness to be here with them, included in this scene. Like I’m a member of their family rather than an employee.

But that’s not what you are, I remind myself. I’m paid to be here with Michel, Léa and Luca; I’m not a friend or a relative. I’m not his wife, their mother, though I wonder if that’s what it looks like to the people we pass and I try to suppress the guilty pleasure that provokes. How lucky Julia is to have all this and how ridiculous she’s choosing to spend her day in the office instead. I know all too well that you only appreciate what you have when you don’t have it anymore. Maybe Julia will realise that too, someday.

‘What a shame Julia had to miss out on this,’ I say.

‘She won’t mind. She’s been here many times before. She has this big project going on right now, so we’re not seeing her very much on Saturdays.’ He looks ahead to the kids and I can’t glean anything from his expression.

‘When will that be over?’

‘Soon. In the fall it’s the world championships. It’s all building up to that. Then she should be able to take a holiday.’

‘That’s good. She seems pretty dedicated to it right now.’

Michel smiles. ‘Yes, she is.’

I’m willing him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. Part of me wants him to criticise her, to agree with my unspoken judgement that she should be here with her family, not in the office, but I can sense he’s far too loyal for that.

‘Well, it’s good she has you supporting h—’ I’m cut off by a scream and then Léa’s rushing towards us yelling something in French. I don’t understand what she’s saying, but I know it’s something serious when Michel takes off at a sprint, leaving me to run after him, cursing my lack of fitness once again. When I catch up and see Luca, my stomach flips over because it doesn’t look like he’s moving. But then I hear him cry and relief courses through me. ‘What happened?’ I say.

Michel is cradling his son’s head and I can see a gash on his forehead. Blood runs down his face and the sight shocks me far more than the grazed knees and elbows I got used to seeing in the school playground at St Mary’s.

‘Il est tombé,’ Léa says, big shuddering sobs shaking her slight frame.