There is still so much to do, and some nights I’ve been waking up, not with the sweats but with a tight sensation in my chest, and my heart racing. Panic, I think it’s called. The old anxieties are still there, rumbling along beneath the surface, although mainly I am being propelled along by excitement and a dogged belief that it will actually happen, just as I’ve planned it.

By the end of our meeting I have four enthusiastic models all signed up for the show. They want to be part of it, not for money (there still isn’t any) but because they love the museum and, just like Izzy, they love to dress up. Which makes me believe that perhaps everything will be okay, after all.

‘Of course it will,’ Andy says, when he shows up just after 10 p.m., presenting the poncho to me like a prize. It’s a thing of wonder: wild, playful and utterly impractical really. But all the lovelier for it.

‘Thank you so much for this,’ I say, meaning it. ‘Erm, I’m so sorry about this, but Nick wondered if he could nip round and film you, arriving with it?’

‘What, now?’ Andy looks appalled.

‘Yes. He’s only round the corner at—’

‘Yeah, I know where Penny lives,’ he says distractedly. ‘Does it have to be tonight, though? I mean, I already have arrived, haven’t I? So, he’s missed that part, the dramatic moment.’ A smile plays on his lips.

‘We can just pretend.’

He sighs. ‘Could we possibly pretend another time?’

I check his face; of course, he’s tired from the drive, and I relent, deciding he has done enough for me today. Instead, I make us mugs of tea, which we take through to the living room, where we sit side by side on the sofa.

We settle into silence. It’s not awkward exactly, although I get the feeling he wants to talk. So far, I’ve avoided it as much as possible; proper talking, that is. But now, curiosity is starting to niggle at me.

Was it the omelette thing? Did he and his new woman row over that? I glance at him, at this man I loved crazily and who now shows up, wanting to help out as if he is still part of the family. It seems almost unbelievable that we were a couple who managed to conceive twice, with fifteen years between our children. Some family planning – although I wouldn’t have it any other way.

‘So,’ I start, as Andy blows gently across his mug of tea, ‘d’you want to tell me what happened with you and Estelle?’

12.27 a.m., a new day

He’s still here. We didn’t plan for that to happen. I certainly never imagined we’d ever sit up again, talking into the night.