‘I mean it. No. No, I don’t,’ I shake my head. ‘But I do. I really do.’ I sound like Chloe when she’s throwing around her stroppy demands and doesn’t really know what she wants, yet I can’t help but continue. ‘Six days for one meeting, you can do that from here on Zoom or Skype. Or use House Party to spice it up a bit – save yourself the flight, save the planet. Stay.’

‘It’s a pitch, Vicky. You know they work best face to face. Don’t make me feel bad.’

‘I’m not,’ I lie, aware that I’ve put him in a shit position and of the lecture he’s about to give to win me over and tell me he’s right to leave us yet again. I instantly wish I could gobble the words back up and unsay them. I’ve heard the spiel a million times and it never makes me feel better. It just hushes me up and eases his guilt as he goes.

‘Advertising is all about being in the room and engaging someone, letting them feel your energy and get excited by you getting excited by them. You know that. You remember what it’s like going into a room of creatives and giving over ideas you know they’re going to love.’

‘Remember it all well,’ I say, feeling the sting of being reminded of my former life as a daytime TV producer. Something I chose to give up when we had the kids. Our kids, my sacrifice … lovingly and willingly done, of course, because there didn’t seem to be another option I was comfortable with, but it feels like a different life. I’m a different person.

‘You know what it’s like when someone else pitches while you sit there thinking, “I could’ve sold that better.” I don’t want to send a junior over with this,’ he sighs. ‘And Vic, it’s not one meeting. If it goes well then it’ll be multiple meetings and mean big things for the company. For us. It’s important. Huge.’

‘Yeah …’ I know he’s right and I’m aware that I shouldn’t be metaphorically grabbing on to his ankles to stop him from going, but the thought of doing this alone, of him not being in the same time zone as me to make exasperating calls to … It makes me feel flat.

I’m so tired already.

‘I’m going to miss you,’ I mumble, because what else can I say without him thinking I’m the worst mother in the world?