Kate paces around the kitchen, watched by Stretch from his basket as she waits for the call to reconnect to Rob. She wishes Bex would wake up. She needs to talk to her, check that she’s doing the right thing by challenging Rob, but she can’t disturb Bex’s beauty sleep again.

‘What’s going on, tiny feet?’ she asks Stretch. ‘Promise me there’ll always be just the one of you.’

She looks at him again, just to make sure, cocking her head to one side. And then there’s an electric click behind her. She spins around to see all four gas rings fired up on the hob, blue flames blazing brightly. For a second she stares in disbelief, before rushing over to turn off each of the knobs. Jesus. What if she’d left something on it? A tea towel? It’s the second time this has happened. The house, Rob’s pride and joy, runs on smart technology, but one day it’s going to burn itself down.

Her phone rings: it’s Rob. She presses connect before she realises he’s facetiming her. Too late.

‘What happened?’ he says.

The voice is loud and clear, but the picture is blurred. Thank God. A message on the screen says: ‘Poor connection’.

‘We got cut off,’ she lies.

‘Can you see me?’ he asks.

‘No. I can hear you, though,’ she says, trying to conceal her relief as she glances at the hob. Once again, a weak signal suits her just fine.

‘I’ve got to get our comms sorted down there,’ he says. ‘It’s embarrassing. Can you imagine if The Cornishman ever found out? “MD of Tech Empire Can’t Get Broadband In His Own Home”.’

He sounds cheerful, still the Rob she knows.

‘You need to sort the gas hob too,’ she says, staring at her phone’s screen. His outline remains a frozen shadow. He could be anyone. ‘Lit itself again just now.’

‘Are you serious?’ he asks, a sudden concern in his voice.

‘It’s OK,’ she says. She can’t complain. It’s a dream kitchen, fitted with everything she could ever want. ‘It just scares me sometimes. Like it has a mind of its own.’ Last week the boiling-water tap came on while she was washing up and burnt her hand.

All the domestic appliances can be controlled from Rob’s London flat. And she’s got used to them going wrong. Welcome to the Internet of Broken Things.

‘You need to tell me if it does it again,’ he says, still anxious.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘It shouldn’t be happening, that’s all,’ he says. ‘I’ll check the firewall.’

‘You think someone’s hacked the house?’

It sounds so ridiculous, but he’s mentioned the possibility once before.

‘You were going to ask me something,’ he says, ignoring her question. ‘Before we got cut off.’