‘You wouldn’t like to stay for dinner?’ My offer was lukewarm and we both knew it.

‘Oh, that’s really kind, but Mum’s expecting me. She’s made fresh pasta.’ And I was serving tagine, one of the easiest dishes there was. I found myself wondering, ridiculously, if it was too late to start again.

‘Bye then, Cass.’ He reached for her, and I wondered if he’d kiss her in front of me, but he just hugged her. Cassie held on tight, closing her eyes, clinging to him. She looked so frail next to his rugby-playing bulk. She’d lost weight again.

‘Did you get the candle?’ I asked, once Aaron had left through the door to the woods.

She plonked it on the counter, making the plates rattle.

‘Careful. What is it?’

‘Fig and orange. Smells gross.’

‘Can you help me, please? I’m struggling here.’ I pushed a lock of hair back with my forearm. It was boiling in the kitchen, with all four hob rings and the oven going. It was only June and already the summer was being talked of as record-breaking, a scorcher, hottest since records began. I’d looked forward to it – dinner in the garden, how Mediterranean – but now the heat seemed to press down on me like a lid, slowing my steps until I was hopelessly behind.

‘Why can’t Dad help?’

‘He’s in his office.’

‘No he’s not, he’s in the garden reading the paper.’

‘Well, can you ask him to check the table’s clean, and wipe the chairs, oh and find some citronella, there’ll be flies.’

‘Ask him yourself, he’s here.’

‘Pick me some herbs!’ I yelled after her, as she slunk out and Mike came in, holding the door open for her to pass.

‘Smells good!’ He seemed cheerful: a relief. He hadn’t been keen on this weekend. It would be too much work, he said, and we didn’t have space for everyone. A four-bedroom house plus a room over the garage, still not enough.

I took a moment to look at him, critically. If this was the anniversary of us starting university, that made it twenty-five years since I’d first seen Mike, across the cavern-like college bar. The easy stance he’d adopted, chatting, while everyone else squirmed and shouted in their awkward first-year way. Five nine, not tall, but enough for me. Some grey now in his dark hair. Today he was wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts, a cotton jumper in a flaming scarlet colour, despite the rising heat in the garden. That was new, and looked expensive. Trying to impress, just like I was, in my own way.

‘Karen texted me – apparently, you’re not answering. They’re getting a taxi from town.’

‘Oh God, I’m not ready. Why so early?’ I’d planned to pick them up later, on my way back.