The weight of the crèche bag drags on my shoulder, getting heavier and heavier as the years go by. I thought when the nappy stage ended things would get a lot easier. But no. Now they have to have a change of clothes for this, a T-shirt for that, a pair of slippers for something else. Ensuring they get full marks from their minders takes a lot of organization.

I follow the boys, rummaging in my handbag for the key. Before locating it, the door opens. Taking both boys under his arms, Tom swings them down the hallway into the kitchen.

‘What’s for dinner?’ he asks, placing Cian and Aaron down, so they can scurry off into the playroom.

What’s for dinner? Is the man gone mad? What about the cops, Tom? Is he going to continue like nothing has happened? Pretend two policemen didn’t just walk out of the house. Maybe he thinks I didn’t see them. That’s it, he thinks they were gone before I pulled up in the car. I’ll say nothing, give him the benefit of the doubt, he might be waiting for me to take my coat off before he drops the bomb.

I’m wrong again. Two hours have passed and he still hasn’t mentioned the fact that the police were at the house. With the boys fast asleep in bed and Amber at Sarah’s, he’s had ample opportunity. I even tried to introduce the subject, asking how his day went? Was he feeling okay after the accident on Sunday? But Tom just gave the usual information-free replies. At one point he seemed a little jittery, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Maybe he just doesn’t want to bother me if it’s not important. Maybe he’s mad that I went ahead and phoned in about the intruder. Shit, I don’t know what to think, but I’ll wait until Amber is home and in bed before mentioning it.

I don’t have to. He brings the topic to the table and in a tone that makes me nervous. Tom is holding my hand, sitting beside me on the sofa, looking into my eyes. His expression is unfamiliar: concern? Fear? I’m not sure, but the man is definitely about to tell me something I don’t want to hear and I’m worried. Amber had no sooner closed the bedroom door when he asked me to sit down.

‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ he says.

So here I am, sitting, waiting for my world to be turned upside down. There is no other explanation for the scene setting. This is serious. Losing all my money was serious too, but that bombshell was disclosed in front of the kids, out in the garden like he was commenting on the disappointing results of a football match. This, I’m afraid, is a lot more critical.