‘Do you want one?’ He holds the bottle up in the air to tempt me.

‘No, thanks.’

‘The lads had to head off early so I only had the three pints.’ He says this like there’s a quota he’s supposed to hit. ‘They’re all up at the crack of dawn for the captain’s day tomorrow.’

Oh, here we go. Tom was raging when I arranged the twins’ birthday party on the same day as some big golf tournament he wanted to play in. I explained to him there was nothing I could do about that. The twins’ birthday is the same day every year. It always will be and this was the closest Sunday to the day. He suggested that I could have had it on the Saturday but I reminded him that I have to work on Saturdays, and that we both knew whose fault that is. That shut him up.

With his Baileys in hand he moves to the far end of the sofa. Usually I stretch my feet over his legs but this time I pull them away from his touch. I don’t know why but the picture jumps to the front of my head. The pink shirt. The day we bought it sticks in my head because Aaron got sick on the floor of the shop after eating a whole packet of jellies, while Tom was at the till. I was in a panic trying to clean it up with a crumbling tissue I found in my pocket, when the woman came out from behind the counter in a panic waving her hands for everyone to step away. Tom looked at me, both of us trying not to laugh at the woman’s reaction to a bit of baby puke.

The wine in my blood stream is making me braver and weaker at the same time. Will I say something? Or should I wait and look for some real evidence. Something to suggest that it was Tom in that photo before I go jumping down his neck.

‘Do you have another child, Tom?’ The words slip out of my mouth before I have time to stop them. The wine must be conducting my brain. Tom is in the middle of laughing at something Graham Norton is proclaiming when he turns to look at me.

‘What?’

‘I’m asking you if you have another child, Tom?’ My heart thumps like a bass drum threatening to drown out his answer. He laughs. Just a short chuckle before turning his attention back to the TV. What do I do now? He thinks I’m joking.

‘I’m not joking, Tom, do you have another child? A teenage boy.’ Taking the remote in his hand he lowers the volume on the TV and twists around in the sofa to face me.

‘You’re for real, are you? You’re actually asking me if I have another child?’

‘Ehh… yes?’