Rob and Becky are chatting away about cooking stuff. I’m watching the way the long arms of the weeping willow branches reach down, their leaves swishing gently in the breeze. Families with dogs and pushchairs are walking along the canal-side and I think about Sophie and her trying-to-get-pregnant headstand and it makes me laugh.

Alex pulls his glasses off and looks at me suspiciously, his mouth turning up in amusement. ‘What’s the joke?’

I put a hand up to my mouth, hiding my smile. ‘Don’t ask.’

‘I’m glad we came out,’ Alex says, nudging my knee gently with his. ‘Thanks.’

‘It was Becky’s idea. She thought you might want to be distracted today, because . . .’ I tail off, taking my sunglasses off, too, and chewing on the arm of them. I look at him and push my hair back from my face.

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Alex begins, in a low voice, changing the subject. ‘I’m really sorry if I put you on the spot the other week, asking you about Emma.’

‘It’s fine,’ I say, putting my glasses back on and tucking my hair behind my ears.

‘Look.’ Alex points over my shoulder. ‘There’s our café.’

I turn, carefully (I don’t want to fall out of the boat) and see we’ve reached Little Venice, and I can see the little pavement café where we stopped for coffee after our first walk together. It’s become a bit of a routine for us now, to end there after our walks and have a flat white and a chocolate brownie. I try to ignore the way it makes my toes go all curly inside my Converse that he called it our café.

‘Anyway,’ he carries on, and I turn around to look at him again. ‘I just wanted you to know that I really appreciated you listening. And I’ve broken things off – well, not that it was a thing, really, but you know what I mean – with Emma.’ His voice is low.

‘How did she take it?’ I ask. No wonder the house has felt a bit weird.

‘Fine.’ He clears his throat. ‘Well, fine-ish.’

‘Is that why she’s been a bit low-profile?’

He nods, and picks at a loose thread on his jeans, pulling it until it snaps and then twisting it absent-mindedly between his fingers. ‘She went back to stay with her parents.’

‘God.’ I try and think when I saw her last. ‘I knew she was going away but hadn’t realised where to.’

‘Yeah.’

A boat passes us, and we all laugh at two spaniels wearing doggy life jackets who are sitting on the table, their owners holding hands and steering the boat together.

‘D’you want a go, Jess?’ Becky motions to the tiller. Or is it the rudder? Whatever.