I try to stay perky, I really do. But the sky is a flat wash of gloomy grey, the summer holidays are over, Izzy and I haven’t been away together and it doesn’t look as if anything thrilling is about to happen at work. On top of all that, I seem to be having one of those perpetually-on-the-brink-of-blubbing days. They still happen to me, sometimes with no obvious trigger – although today I’m all too aware that it’s my mother-in-law Cathy’s birthday (being a wife, such dates have been indelibly inked into my brain). And although I have sent a card from Izzy, Spencer and me – conscious of it virtually pulsing with the omission of Andy’s name – I’d usually call her too.

Right from the start, from when Andy first took me to Inverness to meet them, his parents were always welcoming and kind. Cathy fussed over me, unable to rest until I had sampled both her lemon drizzle cake and her cinnamon buns, and his dad, Will, used to jokingly call me ‘Vivacious’ (‘That’s what Viv’s short for, right?’).

Our visits to their place were always fun, with wine flowing, and everyone talking over each other in that effusive way the Flint family has. They’re quite loud, aren’t they? my mum murmured, looking startled, after the first time our parents had all met.

To give her credit, Cathy has phoned me from time to time since Andy left, and I’ve done my best to stay in touch. It’s all very delicately handled (‘We do hope you’re okay, Viv. We’re very sorry …’), with both of us clearly doing our utmost to pretend that there’s no awkwardness. Whilst Cathy has said that she doesn’t understand why Andy ‘did what he did’ (she can’t even bring herself to specify what that was), she adores all six of her children and, naturally, that’s where her loyalties lie. These days, I always detect her relief when I pass the phone on to Izzy so she can have a nice, relaxed chat with her granddaughter.