‘Now I realise it was. At the time, I was probably a bit eye-rolly about it, especially when I reached my teens and all my friends seemed to be jetting off to Spain or Greece, and then school would start again and it’d be all, “What did you do on your holidays, Viv?” And I’d be like, “Gutted a load of fish!”’ Nick laughs. ‘Of course,’ I add, ‘after Mum and Dad had both gone, I’d have given anything to be sitting on Lamlash beach with them, in the drizzle, covered in scales and bit of fishy insides.’

Nick nods. ‘Mum mentioned that they both passed away fairly young. That must’ve been hard.’

I look at him, surprised but pleased that she’s shared some details about me with him. ‘It did seem terribly unfair,’ I concede. ‘They hadn’t even retired. Mum worked as a science teacher and Dad had a wedding photography business. They’d talked endlessly about leaving Glasgow and buying a little cottage at North Berwick, and enjoying their later years by the coast. Mum was going to start painting and they’d planned to get a dog. Dad wanted to buy a little sailing dinghy …’

‘So they were full of plans,’ he says gently.

‘Yes, they were.’ I drain my mug. ‘What about your dad?’ I ask adding quickly, ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking—’

‘Not at all,’ he assures me, ‘although there’s not an awful lot to tell. You know he moved to Canada?’

‘Yes, Penny mentioned that.’

‘So I saw very little of him when I was growing up.’ He smiles wryly. ‘He wasn’t exactly a family man, by all accounts, although Mum tried to protect me from all of that … I mean, the details of what he’d got up to when they were still together. But let’s put it this way, I don’t quite know how many half-brothers and sisters I have—’ He breaks off as Izzy appears, in her new birthday pyjamas, and stares at him.

‘You don’t know how many brothers and sisters you have?’

Nick looks at me, then back at her, and laughs. ‘It’s a bit complicated, Izzy.’

‘Why?’ she asks.

He pauses, clearly wondering how best to put it. ‘My dad, erm, had other girlfriends, after he and Mum split up …’

She frowns and looks at me. ‘But why don’t you ask him—’

‘We only speak occasionally,’ he says quickly, ‘at Christmas, his birthday, occasions like that. And it never quite seems the right time to ask, “Hey, Dad, how many kids d’you have?”’

I chuckle and turn to Izzy. ‘I’d ask,’ she says.

‘I know you would, darling,’ I say, ‘but c’mon now – stop grilling Nick. Bed, please. It’s very late.’