Spencer, too, was initially appalled when news broke, but has come around to a kind of stoical acceptance. Although he insisted that there was no need at all, that he was absolutely FINE, Andy and I drove (separately) to Newcastle to talk things over with him. Although we were managing to be reasonably cordial with each other – at least in front of Izzy – I couldn’t bear the thought of being trapped in a car with him for the six-hour round trip.

Our son was incredibly sweet and kind about everything. ‘As long as you’re all right, Mum,’ he said, with genuine concern, as I fought back tears over a bowl of noodles I couldn’t even eat. A couple of weeks later he arrived in Glasgow to check whether I really was okay, which made my heart soar. It amazes me sometimes that he has grown up into this thoughtful, caring young man despite a cheating bastard of a father being fifty per cent responsible for his genetic make-up.

By then, Spencer had dragged it out of his father that there was another woman involved. And eventually, Izzy asked outright, ‘Does Daddy have a new girlfriend?’ It all tumbled out that, yes, he has ‘a friend.’ Neither she nor Spencer have met her yet, although I expect they will at some point. All I can hope is that they’ll come back to report some unfortunate trait, like horrendous body odour or a screechy voice, the kind that causes babies to start crying spontaneously and have to be hurried out of the room.

Considering Andy’s apparent devotion to That Woman, I realise it’s pretty unlikely. But we are doing okay, I keep telling myself. We are certainly eating well.

‘Shall we keep some of these for Dad?’ Izzy asks as we tuck in.

‘Yes, we can, love,’ I say.

‘I’m seeing him tomorrow, aren’t I?’

‘Yep, he’s taking you out for the day.’

‘Hurrah!’ She grins. ‘Where are we going?’

‘I’m not sure what he has planned, but I’m sure it’ll be something fun.’

We don’t have any formal system in place yet, for when he sees her; we are playing it by ear, stepping around each other carefully with brittle politeness. He and Izzy usually see a film, potter around the shops or have a pizza, stuff like that. I know the place he’s renting is in the West End. However, although I’ve managed to narrow it down to a fairly small vicinity, he won’t tell me the name of the actual street. He’s adamant that this isn’t because his new woman is living with him – but I can’t think of any other reason why he’d be so cagey about it. What else am I supposed to think?