It was a rookie error. Last night her bag had been jam-packed with things – a candle, a silk scarf, a single shoe that she’d swiped from a boutique around the corner. And Rachel’s salad servers. She felt particularly bad about taking those. She was going to return them – today, if she could find her bag. But where the heck was it?

She found it half wedged under Sonny’s side of the bed – bulging, but still zipped. Thank God. Usually, Tully stored any goodies she’d acquired in the garage as soon as was reasonably possible. It was, after all, not unusual for Sonny to rifle through her bag – for keys, a ringing phone, a breath mint. How horrible it would have been for that to happen this morning of all times, when Sonny was being so lovely. How would she have explained it? After all, she was far too hungover and pathetic this morning to come up with a lie.

She bundled all the items into her bedside table, making a mental note to move them to the garage when Sonny left the house. In the meantime, she thought a shower might be a good move. She padded across the carpet into their ensuite bathroom, and got the water going nice and hot.

When she emerged several minutes later, Sonny was sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

‘If you’re hoping for shower sex, you’re going to be sorely disappointed,’ Tully said. ‘I could barely stand up in there.’ She reached for a white fluffy towel and wrapped it around herself. ‘Why is it so quiet? Did someone die?’

‘I gave the boys a Kit Kat and an iPad each. I even put Miles in a nappy so he wouldn’t need us to take him to the toilet.’

‘Bloody hell. You’re much better at this parenting thing than I ever give you credit for.’

He gave her what started as a smile but turned into a grimace halfway through.

Tully’s brain was working so slowly it took her a minute to compute that this wasn’t normal. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I just got off the phone from the real estate agent.’ He exhaled, looking at his hands. ‘The house is officially on the market. They’re sending photographers this week. And those people who . . . you know . . . stage the house.’

Tully sat down on the edge of the tub beside him. It wasn’t unexpected; Sonny had already said the house would need to be sold. Still, there was something about this next step that felt like a sharp kick to the kidney.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Well, that’s that, then.’

‘God, I’m just so sorry, Tul,’ he said. ‘I know this is your dream house. And the boys . . .’

‘It’s not my dream house,’ she said, scooting up beside him. ‘At least, it’s not my only dream house. My dream house is wherever you and the boys are. As for the boys, do you think they give two hoots what kind of house they live in?’