‘I’d love to. It would be good to hear how he’s getting on rehearsing for his first nativity. I could perhaps give him some tips.’

I kick myself for not mentioning Archie’s starring role in his nursery’s production. Carly must have mentioned it before I arrived. It was something he had in common with his aunt, it might have made the conversation flow a little more easily. ‘He’d like that. George would love to see you too.’

‘I don’t… I…’ Marie’s face reddens. ‘Perhaps we could take Archie to the park, you and me?’

‘Okay but…’ I hesitate, unsure whether to mention Marie’s last meeting with George; she had turned up on our doorstep late at night – steaming drunk and rambling about all men being bastards – but I have to. It’s obviously still playing on her mind. ‘It’s all forgotten, you know.’ The last thing I want to do is embarrass her, so I wrap her tightly in a hug. Her brittle blonde hair is rough against my cheek. ‘I love you,’ I whisper into it.

‘I love you too,’ she says. ‘I will see you soon. I promise.’ She offers her pinkie. ‘Cross my heart.’

I find myself smiling, linking my little finger through hers, seeing through the layers of her dark make-up down to the freckles dotting pale skin. Skinny jeans may have long replaced the white knee-length socks that had always bunched around her ankles but I see the child that still exists inside. I let my inner eight-year-old come out and play and we chant:

‘A pinkie promise can’t be broke

Or you’ll disappear in a puff of smoke

This is my vow to you,

I’ll keep my promise through and through.’

Carly rolls her eyes at us – ‘You two are so lame’ – falling back into her too-cool-for-school role. For the first time in a long time we feel united, slipping seamlessly back into our identities. I feel that as I leave Marie it won’t be for long. I turn to wave as I reach my car and she mouths she’ll see me soon.

And I believe that she means it.

Archie launches himself at me – you’d think it’s been four weeks instead of four hours since I last saw him – but I don’t mind. I feel much the same. Each time I say goodbye to someone my stomach gives a series of tiny flips like the jumping beans Marie and I used to hold in the palms of our hands. It doesn’t settle until I see them again. Rationally I know that Archie is safe at nursery. That I always collect him at one o’clock unless I’m working and then Carly is always there, but that doesn’t stop me worrying.

I zip up his coat, covering the Weetabix crusted to his Thomas the Tank Engine jumper that my wandering mind had missed that morning.

‘Let’s get you home, mister.’

‘Is Daddy there? He said he’d have lunch with me today.’