Somehow, I’m not sure that Turkish tomatoes or even her sourdough pizza would be greeted with enthusiasm by our young guest. ‘It’s okay, Iz. Thanks, but I think we’ll just have something simple—’

‘I like … pancakes,’ he announces.

‘Pancakes?’ I beam at him. ‘I can do that. D’you mean the small, thick kind, or big and thin?’

‘Big and thin.’

‘Right! Pancakes it is then,’ I announce, much to Izzy’s surprise and delight. Normally, we only have them on weekends. ‘Honey,’ I add, ‘could you go through and put on cartoons for you and Ludo while I make them?’ I am aware of the children eyeing each other, thrown together by circumstance. Neither of them seems to want to go anywhere.

‘I’ll help you,’ she says.

‘I will too,’ adds Ludo. I’m about to say no thank you but, hell, his mum has just been rushed off to hospital, and he’s probably staying with us overnight – I’m not sure if he ever goes on sleepovers, I suspect no one ever invites him – so, to that end, I make a firm decision to be as kind and amenable as is humanly possible.

Gratifyingly, Izzy is happy for Ludo to do the mixing, and I turn a blind eye to the fact that batter is splashing everywhere. I do draw the line at letting him fry the pancakes, even though his mother regularly allows him to play with hot oil, by all accounts (‘We don’t say no!’) – but that’s not happening on my watch. However, I do let him choose his pancake toppings, catching Izzy’s look of amazement as he rejects my suggestions of grated cheese and ham, opting instead to smear on Nutella and jam, plus a liberal sprinkling of granulated sugar.

On and on I fry, sweating like a short order cook, totalling what feels like about 200 pancakes (because he keeps asking for more) until the kitchen – and I – reek of burnt butter.

Ludo doesn’t want a bath, and I’m not about to push him on the matter. Nor does he want a story or to clean his teeth, although I do insist on the latter. When his mother comes home, he might complain that our house is scruffy and we don’t have his favourite gummy sweets. But by God, he will still be in possession of his teeth.

Tuesday, August 20

Chrissie has had an emergency caesarean, which was pretty shocking for both of them as apparently Ludo was born at home, with scented oils burning and Tim reading the poems she had selected beforehand. There was no poetry this time. However, mother and baby daughter (name yet to be announced) are doing fine, and I’ve communicated that Ludo is fine too, a delight to have around.

Chrissie wants me to stay here, Tim has texted, prob overnight. She’s just a bit shellshocked. So sorry. Is that okay with you?