Kate consulted the school lunch choices sellotaped to the door of the cereal cupboard, praying for pizza. No such luck: Beef stew. Fish stew. Vegetable stew. Fabulous. Did anyone’s child eat that?

‘Alice, Thomas. There’s a yummy stew for lunch today!’ The enthusiasm in her voice sounded fake even to her. But she really wanted them to have a hot meal at school. They might be eating later than usual tonight. Something else to feel guilty about. Just add it to the list.

Both children clutched their stomachs and pretended to be sick. Then Thomas looked up with his beautiful blue eyes. ‘Chocolate spread sandwiches?’ You had to admire his optimism. Kate got out the bread to make packed lunches – ham, not chocolate spread. Obviously.

Last night, she’d carried the postcard through to the lounge, putting it on top of the ever-growing pile of papers on her piano. Luke called it the most expensive letter rack in the country. She’d sat on the piano stool, sipping the disgusting tea and just staring at the postcard. Paris. And Shannon. If Shannon was awake at three a.m. it would be because she’d just got home from a glamorous night out, not because she was drinking camomile tea and turning over in her head whether or not she had made a fool of herself in the school office yesterday because she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of her daughter’s class. Or worrying whether her husband would find out where she’d been. Or who with.

Kate had given up on the tea and hunted through the mountain of papers on the piano until she found the old photo Shannon had sent her the month before: the two of them drinking virgin marys, complete with celery sticks, at The Albert on Victoria Street. It must have been one of the many Mondays they had pledged to start a health kick. She peered at her thirty-year-old self. Where had that girl in the photograph gone?

Right now she was squashing an apple into each of her children’s lunchboxes – apples which would undoubtedly come back uneaten but would prove that Kate encouraged healthy eating. When she put the lunchboxes inside their backpacks, she found a letter in Alice’s informing her that an ‘optional’ homework for last night had been to draw their hero. ‘Shit.’

Alice was right behind her. ‘Mummy, is shit a square word?’

Perfect timing. ‘Alice, who is your hero?’

Alice considered for a moment.