A look is passed between the two of them. It’s a flicker, a waver, but I notice it. Kids. Children. Sprogs. I might not be afforded that luxury. Or rather, it’s a part of life Pia and I missed out on experiencing together. We had tried. For a period of time we were at it like rabbits trying to make it work. After years trying not to get pregnant we were finally on a mission to do the opposite, but it was to no avail. We’d talked about looking into the situation further but her diagnosis arrived first, along with the understanding that hormones were feeding her cancer and that egg retrieval for some magical cancer-free time in the future was not an option for us. Had we wanted to we would have been looking at egg donation as well as surrogacy, or maybe giving a home to children already in the world who could benefit from our love. Cancer had shifted our focus and, in truth, I didn’t care about what we could’ve had. To me it was a ‘coulda, woulda, shoulda’ that my mind didn’t want to allow in. I just wanted to keep my wife alive.

The kettle switch clicks, allowing me the comfort of turning away to pour.

‘Liam made a great speech,’ Vicky says, opening the milk and waiting for me to finish.

‘Surprised you remember it,’ laughs Zaza, passing a spoon to stir.

‘Oh ha ha,’ Vicky replies, screwing up her face and passing my mug.

‘Sorry I missed it,’ I say, bringing the brew to my lips.

‘Yeah well, bigger fish …’ replies Zaza.

Another pause while we think about the bigger fish. It’s a rather monumental fish.

‘You know Mum offered to help me with this?’ I say, diving in.

‘Really?’ scoffs Vicky.

‘Yep. Told me she’d help me “get rid of it all”. Said she’d come round and blitz the place. Get it done.’

‘Very Brexit of her,’ says Zaza, shaking her head.

‘She didn’t know about Pia’s plans for today, I didn’t tell her, but I think she just knows this is a hurdle. A job to work through. A part of the process, I guess,’ I add, finding the words harsh as they leave my mouth. ‘Something that has to happen at some point.’

‘How’d she take you declining her offer?’

‘You know Mum,’ I grin. ‘Ready to take a backseat and just leave me to it really.’

‘Did she turn up at the door with some black bags and bottles of bleach?’

‘Almost,’ I laugh. ‘She has turned up most days unannounced – usually to drop off some food or a card someone has sent her to pass on. You know, I think she’d find this easier if Pia had left me for someone else? I think Mum finds her dying on me a bit … inconsiderate.’