Penny splutters. ‘That’ll be educational for him, when the fire brigade have to drag them all out of the house.’

Isla leans forward with interest. ‘What d’you think about these pampered children, Penny? We indulge our kids so much these days. You must think we’ve all lost our minds.’

Penny smiles and flicks her bouncy highlighted hair, clearly pleased to be quizzed about such matters. ‘I suppose some children were always spoilt. But the big difference was, parenting wasn’t even a thing back then. Not one’s entire life’s work, I mean. “Parenting”—’ she waggles her fingers around the word ‘—basically meant trying to ensure they didn’t eat anything poisonous and went to bed at a reasonable hour so you had some time to yourself.’

‘I wish I’d been like that,’ declares Isla, who has remained on remarkably good terms with her ex. ‘My oldest expects me to write his English essays for him. There are few enough benefits to being fifty-two. Surely not having to sweat over the symbolism in Macbeth should be one of them.’

‘You’re a total marvel,’ I say, meaning it. ‘They have this belief that you can fix everything, do everything, so they all lean on you a lot.’

‘But why do I always agree to help?’ She pushes back her no-nonsense blonde cropped hair. ‘I still try to trick them into eating vegetables too. It’s ridiculous. My oldest is eighteen.’ She turns to Penny. ‘Did you ever do that? Did you liquidise mange tout for pasta sauces?’

‘No,’ Penny retorts, laughing, ‘because I wasn’t insane.’ And then, of course, I have to persuade her to tell them about the Angel Delight, and the strip-off in the library, which they find hysterical.

‘You’re so refreshing,’ Isla says, wiping her eyes. ‘People take parenting so bloody seriously these days. We don’t just bring up our kids and hope for the best. We raise them with such care and attention to detail, as if the future of the human race depends on us getting it right.’

‘What does Nick do now?’ Shelley asks.

‘He makes documentaries,’ Penny replies.

‘Oh, what about?’

‘Anything he really cares about. He’s based in Auckland – he married a New Zealander, but that didn’t last for very long. He’s coming over soon …’ She gives me a quick sideways look, which I choose to ignore.

‘How did he get into that?’ Isla asks.

‘By teaching himself how to make films,’ she says with a rare trace of pride, ‘with equipment he’d borrowed from friends, in the early days. He’s very determined and excellent at what he does.’

‘Did he go to university?’ Shelley asks.

‘I think he might have,’ she says with a shrug.

‘Penny!’ I exclaim, realising she’s teasing as she laughs and tops up our glasses. She knows how outraged I can be by her approach to mothering (‘benign neglect’, she calls it).