‘Not today. We’re still preparing.’ Rav gives me a long look before checking his watch. ‘Shit, I need a shower.’ He thuds out of the kitchen, ruffling Mina’s hair as he goes. I close my eyes, grateful for the early morning May sunshine that streams in through the window creating a puddle of warmth, and let the baby feed and feed, trying to ignore the gnawing thirst that has started up at the back of my throat. Rav didn’t think to make me a cup of tea as well, his mind already on the difficult case that has crowded out everything else around him for weeks now. When Leo is finished, I lay him in the Moses basket and cut up some toast and fruit for Mina, tidy away the mug that Rav has left on the side, wipe up the sugar he has spilled across the worktop, and chug down a glass of water to ease the parched feeling in my throat.

When Rav comes back down, he looks gleaming and fresh, as if just unwrapped from cellophane. Feeling tired and faded, I watch as he bustles around, shoving papers into his briefcase, checking his pockets for his phone, his wallet, his keys, all while Mina dances around his feet, desperate for him to notice her.

Rav scoops her up for a quick kiss, his eyes on the clock on the kitchen wall. ‘Hey, Mina, why don’t you go and find the new dolly Avó brought for you?’ He turns to me as she runs off into the hallway. ‘Mum brought her a traditional doll, it’s got a sari and everything.’ He does a little eye roll and I push a smile on to my face. Rav’s mother is lovely most of the time – I don’t think she’ll ever be entirely convinced I am the right woman for her precious son – but despite moving to Britain years ago with Rav’s dad, she still loves to tell us stories about her old life in Goa and is keen to make sure that Mina knows about her heritage. Rav picks up his briefcase and then pauses, his eyes on mine. ‘Al, are you really OK? You look tired.’ He touches the back of my hand lightly with one finger, stroking along the strong blue line of my veins.

‘I just couldn’t sleep,’ I say quietly. ‘I had …’ I had what? A bad dream? I sound like a five-year-old. That thick unsettling feeling comes over me again and I have to swallow hard. ‘A nightmare. I had a nightmare and then I couldn’t go back to sleep once I’d fed the baby. I thought I would make a cup of tea and I must have fallen asleep down here.’