Out of the corner of my eye I see the empty box on the side. ‘Is Hollie OK?’

‘She’s fine.’ But Niamh’s answer is too quick and Hollie clearly wasn’t fine.

‘I passed her just now.’ I wonder if something happened between them in the hour I was out. ‘She came running out just as I got back. She seemed upset.’

As Niamh shrugs, I realise she isn’t going to tell me anything. She wanders out of the kitchen and then I hear her light footsteps on the stairs. Fetching a glass, I make myself another vodka and tonic – full-strength this time, rather than the insipid version the pub serves, then go over to the sofa at the far end of the kitchen, flicking the TV on.

The kitchen is my favourite room – calm, light, cosy. Looking around, I imagine Andrew in the pub, no doubt smugly holding forth to anyone who’ll listen, knowing there’ll be plenty who will. Self-pity washes over me, but it’s fleeting. I take a sip of my drink. I chose this life, just as I choose to stay with him. Not because I love this lifestyle or this house – they’ve long since lost their appeal. The only reason I’m here is because of Niamh.

*

By the time Andrew gets home, I’m in a vodka-induced slumber, which absolves me from having to talk to him. When I awake late the following morning, I find the bed beside me empty. As I lie there, the sound of Andrew crashing around the kitchen reaches my ears, then the quieter sound of Niamh’s bedroom door opening, her footsteps growing fainter as she goes downstairs.

Closing my eyes, I think about staying in bed – I’m often on an early flight so the two of them are used to mornings without me – but I force myself to get up, propelled by a sense of maternal duty.

‘Are you better?’ Andrew barely looks at me as I walk into the kitchen. He misses my nod as he grabs his keys. ‘I’ll be late,’ he says abruptly. ‘I have a meeting.’

I look at Niamh, her face implacable as she watches him. ‘I hope it goes well.’ For Niamh’s sake, I try to sound caring to counteract the fact that he is anything but.

‘See you tonight.’ As he grabs his jacket and marches outside, Niamh glances at the clock, then pulls on her coat.

I watch her pick up her school bag. ‘Have a good day, Niamh.’

‘Bye.’

She looks small as she walks outside, pulling the door closed behind her. Her face is paler than usual this morning, bleached by the negativity between me and Andrew that she can’t escape. I wait for the sound of his car starting, but instead I hear him swear loudly.

Flinging the door open, he marches back inside. ‘Some little shit’s been at my car.’