My God though, he’s taking Izzy away to have a wonderful time with his parents and siblings! They’re scattered all over the country and only get together very occasionally. Will she ever want to come back? They’ll have so much fun, she might decide she wants to live with her dad permanently. I know I’m being crazy, and that it’s unlikely; for one thing, he would never agree to buy her pomegranate syrup. But even so, it’s disconcerting, the thought of him whisking her away for a whole week.

Even before Andy left me, our family felt pretty unbalanced. On his side we have his mum and dad (a sparky and active couple in their late seventies) plus his two brothers and three sisters. At the last count, the Flint siblings have produced fourteen children, including ours. His side of the family is enormous with everyone squabbling constantly but adoring each other really. Perhaps I’m a little envious that there’s always so much going on.

And on my side? Well, it’s a little quieter, to say the least. I am an only child. Both of my parents died thirteen years ago, when Spencer was nine and way before Izzy was born. Dad passed away from complications due to his diabetes, and Mum lost her life to oesophageal cancer a few months later. Both were in their early sixties and I was blindsided by grief.

Although I can hardly bear to think of it now, Andy was fantastic during this time. With no siblings to turn to, I leant on him heavily and he was there at my side, helping with the arrangements, the funerals, the eventual clearing out and sale of their modest terraced house in Glasgow’s Southside.

I’ve relied on him so much, I realise now. Perhaps I took it for granted that he would be strong and always there for me, no matter what.

His parents were marvellous too. ‘You still have us,’ Cathy, my mother-in-law had said as she hugged me after Mum’s funeral, which struck me as remarkably perceptive. She found me in tears in our garden a few days later. ‘What is it, Viv?’ she’d asked gently.

‘I never appreciated them enough,’ I replied.

‘Everyone feels like that. That’s just normal, love.’

‘Yes, but I never imagined they’d be gone soon.’ As we sat together at our garden table, I told her how my mum had misguidedly booked me in for a make-up session in a long-defunct department store for my sixteenth birthday. If it had been one of the cool, youthful brands, I’d have been delighted – but, being oblivious to make-up trends, Mum had chosen the counter frequented by demure older ladies. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings by saying I didn’t want to go.