Conversation is waning now. We have discussed our offspring at length and now I’m more than ready for him to leave; specifically to stop contaminating our kitchen table by resting his Levi’s-clad arse on it. Funny how I use to lust after that butt, appreciating its cheeky curves, especially when clad in snug-fitting stretchy white boxers. Whereas now, if I think about it at all, I just imagine my booted foot colliding with it at speed.

‘Hi, Dad!’ Mercifully, Izzy has appeared and is ready to go.

‘Hi, angel,’ he says.

‘Guess what. Chrissie had a baby!’ she announces.

‘Really?’ he says, feigning interest. If it wouldn’t delay him further, I’d be tempted to foist all the details – the emergency caesarean, Chrissie’s cracked nipples, the early, mustard-coloured poos – onto him. For a medical man, he has always been oddly iffy about bodies (apart from Estelle’s, obviously).

‘Yeah,’ Izzy says. ‘She’s so cute. Ludo stayed with us.’

‘Did he? Wow.’

‘For a week,’ she adds.

‘A week? How was that?’ He glances, wide-eyed, at me.

‘It was fine,’ I reply. Is he planning to take his daughter out, or are we going to stand here yabbering away all day? My eyes flick to the wall clock. I’d prefer him to be well out of the way by the time Jules shows up. Occasionally, he has shown up when either she or Penny has been here, and the stilted politeness has been excruciating.

‘The baby’s called Lara,’ Izzy adds, at which Andy smirks.

‘Lara?’ he says with a snigger, ‘Not Cluedo, or Snakes and Ladders?’

I am dying of mirth here. Now please leave my house. ‘What d’you mean?’ Izzy asks, looking confused.

‘You know,’ Andy says. ‘Ludo’s a game, right?’

‘Is it?’ She frowns.

‘Yes, it is,’ I say quickly, fixing Izzy’s small spotty backpack on her back as a signal to Andy that I’ve had quite enough of his company today. To make doubly sure he gets the message, I indicate the door with my eyes, in a similar way to how I communicated telepathically with Tim yesterday.

‘Right, Iz,’ Andy announces. ‘We’d better be off.’ I must be getting better at transmitting my thoughts in this way. Perhaps I’ll arrive at a point where I don’t have to say anything to Andy at all?

As soon as they’ve left, I flit about tidying the living room, grabbing at sweet wrappers that Ludo apparently managed to scatter about the place – why bother with bins when the floor will do? – then try to smooth down my rumpled hair and assume a calm, reflective manner.