The exclamation marks are coming thick and fast now, pinging into my face like air rifle pellets.

‘Dad?’ Flynn raps on the bathroom door.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s ten past eight. I can just get the bus if it’s easier?’

‘No, it’s okay.’

‘Why are you insisting on driving me? I don’t get it …’

Because it’s imperative that you go to school under the impression that everything is normal, as indeed it will be by the time you come home this afternoon, because I fully intend to sort everything out.

‘I’m nearly ready, okay?’ I shout back. Through the door, I hear him muttering about my weirdness – the word ‘mental’ is clearly audible – then wandering back to his bedroom and firmly closing the door.

I drop the note on the floor, pull off my pyjamas and kick them, rebelliously, into the corner by the bin. In the shower I use Sinead’s posh Penhaligon’s ‘Juniper Sling’ shower gel rather than the cheap blue stuff – another devil-may-care gesture – and mentally run through as many of her complaints as I can remember whilst sluicing myself down.

The big ones – about being an uncaring, selfish arsehole – all swirl into one terrible, heady mess, and I find myself fixating instead on the more tangible matter of Scout’s poos. Okay, maybe I have missed the odd tiny deposit in our garden, down in the long grass by the shed. Or at least, they have been missed (clearly, and without my knowledge, this has become my responsibility). This matter can be easily rectified. From now on I will never again let Scout – or, specifically, Scout’s arse – out of my sight.

With a wave of petulance, I dry off briskly and check my phone in case Sinead called while I was showering. Nothing. I’m tempted to phone around her closest friends, but I don’t want to alarm anyone and, anyway, what would I say? ‘Hello, it’s Nate. Sinead seems to have gone missing’? No need for any of that.

It also occurs to me now that, because she’s gone AWOL, I’ll have to walk Scout and Bella before Flynn and I can set off. Sinead usually takes Scout around the block first thing, before driving Flynn to school, then she parks back by our house and walks to the gift shop a few streets away, where she works. On top of all that, she also pops home at lunchtime to let Scout into our back garden (naturally, she never fails to pick up his poos). Oh, God, the colossal amount of stuff she does! No wonder she’s hacked off. All this perpetual nipping back and forth, plus taking care of most of the shopping, cooking, laundry and homework supervision – and that’s just for starters. But then, she’s never complained about anything specifically before now … At least, I don’t think she has (admittedly, I find it hard to keep up with everything sometimes). Instead of harbouring all of these resentments, couldn’t she just have let me know?