Karen almost tutted. ‘Love, you won’t get any sleep. We’re going to be here for hours yet.’ Were we? It was nearly eleven.

‘Why don’t you chill in Mike’s office for a bit?’ I offered, knowing Cassie would roll her eyes at me saying chill. ‘Until your mum needs the bed, anyway. If you don’t mind, Karen?’

‘Oh,’ Karen said, her face lit in the cigarette glow. ‘Well, of course not. Good idea, Ali.’

I followed Cassie in to the light of the kitchen, noticing Mike had left his jumper, his £200 Hugo Boss jumper, lying in a heap on the decking. I started to bend to pick it up, then stopped. It didn’t matter if jumpers were on the ground or if bedtime shifted a bit. I had to start relaxing, letting more things slide. I couldn’t work and keep the house perfect and the kids happy. I just couldn’t.

Benji was climbing the stairs obediently and Cassie went to follow him. ‘You OK, darling?’ I called after her. I wondered why she didn’t want to stay up with Jake.

Cassie’s eyes skipped over mine. Her phone was grasped in her hand. ‘Fine. Just didn’t want to listen to more about the glory days of Oxford.’ And she would likely not get to go now she hadn’t made the stream. Perhaps she’d taken that harder than I realised.

‘I know. You’ve been very tolerant, thank you. Goodnight, darling.’

She went up the stairs, saying nothing in response. Wearily I started stacking the dishes, rinsing the pots. Mike hated me putting them in the dishwasher, but then I didn’t see him helping. I ran a cloth over the worktops and put away some of the half-empty bottles of wine that sat about – why didn’t people finish one before opening another? – then took one of white and poured a splash into a clean glass. I loved these glasses. I’d found them in an antique shop – and I loved saying that as well, when people asked where they were from, felt it made me sound like someone with their life together – and adored the green glass stems and the way the old glass was full of small bubbles, turning everything to champagne. I sipped it slowly – too warm – looking out the window to where the four of them sat, wrapped in the candle glow, Karen and the guys, the edges of us dissolving in booze and darkness and nostalgia. Dangerous.

‘Need a hand?’ I jumped a little – Bill walked so softly I hadn’t heard him come in.

‘Oh! No, it’s OK. I’ll do the rest tomorrow.’

‘Coming back out?’ He ambled to the counter, lifted a bottle of red. ‘OK if I . . . ?’