‘How long have you been up?’ he asked, aware that before he’d seen Bella he’d only just woken and thrown on some clothes.

Freddie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. An hour. Maybe ten minutes.’

Helpful. Nick scratched his head through a handful of knotty hair. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yeah.’

Seeing as conversation was coming second to Freddie’s favourite YouTuber, Nick went to the kitchen to salvage the cup of tea he’d half made before emptying the bin. The bag had been overflowing and the teabag he’d thrown in had been the last straw, sending it cascading over. Nick sipped his tea and glanced back at his son.

Not too long ago, Freddie had started every day by climbing into bed with him and Paige for a cuddle. Those sleepy moments of them all pressed together, snuggled under the duvet, had been his favourite way to the start the day, even when he and Paige had spent the evening before arguing. The tenderness of his little body between them and his gentle chatter about what had happened at school the previous day were better than any alarm clock. They woke him up in such a peaceful, loving way.

Now, Freddie didn’t bother coming in and every morning was a rush of packing snacks for school – thank God for school dinners – finding a packed lunch for himself and ensuring Freddie was at least reasonably presentable in his school uniform. He might be a little rumpled but everything, including his tie, was always there. It was the one thing Nick had been proud of, though he wasn’t sure the arguments about ties and blazers were really worth it for such a small badge of honour.

Nick missed those morning cuddles the most. In the early months of Paige’s departure, Freddie had stopped slipping into bed and Nick hadn’t been sure whether to make him or not. He kept asking him to, but when the boy said no, what could he do? He didn’t want to force him, but neither did he want Freddie to pull away and withdraw even further into himself.

It didn’t help that Nick knew he’d been more than a little short-tempered at the start of his life as a single father. It wasn’t what Freddie had needed from him, but the pressure of paying all the bills on his own, dealing with his own heartache and trying to navigate Freddie through what could only be described as grief, had exhausted him. He’d been continually strung out. Always on edge. How was he supposed to deal with a ten-year-old’s feelings when he couldn’t deal with his own? Since the first day she’d left he’d felt like he was drowning underneath the pressure and, no matter how much he tried to get it together, he always failed at the first hurdle.