‘And bring Esther’s phone, there’s a good boy,’ Viv instructed, leaning across to press Esther back into her seat. Esther was more than happy to obey. The floaty feeling had evolved into a sense of deep well-being. She grinned her gratitude at Finn, who delivered her phone with a flourish a couple of minutes later, before handing the bottle of wine to his father and going back inside for the water jug.

At the sight of her screen, Esther was aware of the hubbub around her receding. There were rows of notifications: missed call after missed call from Lucas and Lily, as well as countless messages. The most recent was a text from Dylan, which Esther, heart crashing against her ribcage, read first.

Hey mum whatever dad says dont worry. I just couldnt do it. am travelling. got money and will get jobs. never wanted uni anyway. pls dont message or call. Dx

‘Esther, I am not telling you what to do.’

‘Oh, really, Viv? Are you sure about that? Because all I want – all I need – is to get home as soon as I possibly can. And you’re making me feel bad about it.’

‘That is the last thing I am trying to do. All I meant to say was that getting some sleep and catching a plane tomorrow morning makes more sense than ordering a taxi and rushing to the airport right now. It has gone midnight. You are in a state of shock, and little wonder. But Dylan, wherever he is, has communicated with you. Which means he is clearly – albeit in a dramatic way – seeking space, as teenagers do. Look, Esther, I’m sure that deep down he is okay—’

‘You have no idea how Dylan is.’ Esther gasped, staring across the candle now guttering on the table between them. She would have been packing her suitcase, had Viv not insisted they talk. The children had long since sloped off to their rooms, their hunched shoulders and quiet voices communicating their awareness both of Esther’s home drama and of the row that seemed to have broken out with their mother. Brian, visible through the big kitchen window, was washing up as if his life depended on it. ‘Dylan might need me. He could be home now. I should get myself there just in case—’

‘Esther, he has a key. He might like it that you are not there. He’s just rebelling…’

Esther glanced up sharply. She had dared to relax, she realised wretchedly; she had dared to think the world could be kind, when all along it had been plotting this new mauling. She longed to picture Dylan at home, lounging on the sofa with his phone and the telly, waiting for her; but all she could see was him disappearing into a plane, heading for some unimaginable, far-flung place, a small, lone figure being swallowed up by the world.