Too much?

No, not too much. Dan looks replete with happiness – and the louder I exclaim, the happier he looks. He’s so easy to fool. I feel a fresh wave of fondness for him, sitting there with his piece of toast, unaware that I’m lying through my teeth.

I honestly don’t think it could go the other way. Dan is transparent. He’s guileless. If he were lying through his teeth, I’d know. I’d just know.

‘Tilda helped me choose it,’ he says modestly.

‘No way!’ I gasp. ‘Tilda? You and Tilda were in league over this? You!’ I give him a little push on the arm.

Too much?

No, not too much. Dan looks even more delighted. ‘You really like it?’

‘I love it. What a brilliant surprise.’

I give him a huge kiss, feeling satisfied with myself. We’re doing it! The plan’s working! We’re spicing up our marriage. OK, so the breakfast was a slight misfire, but otherwise, bullseye. I could easily face another sixty-eight years of marriage if every day started with Dan giving me a cashmere cardigan.

No, OK, rewind, obviously I don’t mean that literally. Dan can’t give me a cashmere cardigan every day, what a ludicrous idea. (Although – every six months, maybe? Just a thought. Just putting it in the mix.) I suppose what I mean is, I could easily face another sixty-eight years of marriage if they all began like today has. All happy and connected.

So. Actually, I’m not sure where that gets us, but I feel as though I’m Thinking Through Our Issues, which has got to be a good thing, no?

‘So.’ Dan drains his coffee cup and puts it down with a dynamic air. ‘I must get going. I have a mystery errand to complete.’ His eyes flash at me, and I beam back.

‘Well, I have a mystery task, too. Will you be back for lunch?’ I add casually. ‘I thought we’d have pasta and pesto, nothing fancy …’

Ha! Ha! Not.

Dan nods. ‘Oh, sure. I’ll be back by noon.’

‘Great!’ I turn my attention to Tessa and Anna. ‘Right! Who wants breakfast?’

Saturday morning is when I catch up with boring household tasks, while Tessa and Anna play with all the toys they don’t have time for during the week. Then we have an early lunch and I take the girls to their 2 p.m. ballet lesson.

But not today!

The minute Dan’s left the house, I get cracking. I’ve been meaning to change the kitchen curtains forever, and this is my perfect excuse. I’ve also bought a coordinating tablecloth, some new candlesticks and a lamp. I’m giving the kitchen a whole makeover, like in that interiors show I always watch in bed when Dan is downstairs watching the rugby. Our new-look kitchen will feel bright and fresh and new and Dan will love it.

I’m hot and sweating by the time everything is done. It’s taken a bit longer than I expected and I’ve resorted to letting the girls watch CBeebies, but the place looks amazing. The curtains are a really funky print from John Lewis, and the neon rubber candlesticks add a pop of colour. (I got that from the TV show. It’s all about ‘pops of colour’.)

When Karen our nanny arrives, I lean nonchalantly against the counter and wait for her to exclaim in admiration. Karen is quite into design and stuff. She always has interesting-coloured trainers or nail polish on, and she reads my Livingetc after me. She’s half-Scottish, half-Guyanese, and has lots of dark curly hair which Anna loves decorating with hair slides. Sure enough, she notices the makeover at once.

‘Awesome!’ She looks around, taking in all the details. ‘I love those curtains! Really awesome!’

Karen’s thing is that she adopts a word and uses only that word for about a week and then moves on to a new one. Last week it was ‘trashy’, this week it’s ‘awesome’.

‘Awesome candlesticks!’ she says, picking one up. ‘Are those from Habitat? I was looking at those last week.’

‘I think they add a pop of colour,’ I say casually.

‘Awesome.’ Karen nods and puts the candlestick down. ‘So, what exactly is happening today?’

She sounds a bit puzzled, and I don’t blame her. We don’t normally employ her on Saturdays, nor do I normally send her texts beginning Don’t tell Dan I’m texting you!!

‘I wanted to give Dan a surprise,’ I explain. ‘Take him out somewhere special.’

‘Right.’ Karen opens her mouth as though to say something – then closes it again. ‘Right. Awesome.’

‘So, if you could give the girls lunch, take them to ballet and then maybe the park? We’ll be back at fourish.’

‘OK,’ says Karen slowly. Again, she looks as though she wants to say something more, but isn’t sure where to start. She isn’t going to ask for a change in hours or something, is she? Because I really don’t have time.

‘Anyway!’ I say briskly. ‘I must go and get ready. Thanks, Karen!’

I take a quick shower before dressing in capri pants and my new cardigan. Sure enough, a minicab soon pulls up outside our house, and I feel a tweak of glee. Dan will be so surprised! In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s him I can hear, arriving home. I’d better get a move on.

It only takes me four minutes to do my make-up and a minute more to put my hair in a knot. I hurry downstairs and pause halfway down, glancing through the landing window. To my surprise, there’s a second cab parked next to the first one.

Two?

Oh my God. Please don’t say …

As I’m staring at the cabs, Dan comes out of the sitting room. He’s wearing a smart blue shirt and linen jacket and his eyes are gleaming.

‘You look lovely!’ he says. ‘Which is good news, because … drum roll … we’re not having pasta at home!’

‘Dan,’ I say slowly. ‘Have you done something? Because I’ve done something, too.’

‘What do you mean?’ Dan says, puzzled.

‘Look outside,’ I say, coming all the way down the stairs. Dan opens the front door and I see him blink at the sight of the two cabs. I’m pretty sure they both come from Asis Taxis, the firm we always use.

‘What the hell?’

‘One of them’s mine,’ I say. ‘Don’t tell me the other one’s yours. Have we both organized a treat?’

‘But …’ Dan is staring at the cabs, looking totally scrubcious, his brow furrowed. ‘But I was organizing lunch,’ he says at last.

‘No you weren’t, I was!’ I retort, almost crossly. ‘It was a surprise. I ordered the cab, I booked Karen …’

‘I booked Karen too!’ says Dan, hotly. ‘I booked her days ago.’

‘You both booked me!’ Karen’s voice comes from behind and the two of us swivel round. She’s gazing at the pair of us and seems a bit freaked out. ‘You both sent me these texts, saying could I work on Saturday and “keep it secret”. I didn’t know what was going on. So I thought I’d just turn up and … see.’

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Fair enough.’

We should have known this would happen. We should have made a plan. Only then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.

‘Well, we obviously can’t do both …’ Dan suddenly focuses on me. ‘What’s your surprise?’

‘I’m not telling you! It’s a surprise.’

‘Well, I’m not telling you mine,’ he says adamantly. ‘It would ruin it.’

‘Well.’ I fold my arms, equally adamant.

‘So what do we do? Toss a coin?’

‘I’m not tossing a coin!’ I retort. ‘I think we should just do my surprise. It’s really good. We can do yours another day.’

‘No we can’t!’ Dan seems offended. ‘What, you’re assuming your idea is better than mine?’

‘Tickets to Tim Wender’s sold-out lunchtime event at the Barbican Comedy Festival?’ I want to say. ‘Our favourite stand-up comedian and lunch? You think you can beat that?’

But obviously I have manners, so I don’t. I just give him a little smile and shrug and say, ‘Mine’s pretty good.’

‘Well, so’s mine.’ Dan glares at me.

‘Let me decide!’ suggests Karen suddenly. ‘You tell me the plans and I’ll decide which one you should go with.’

What? That’s a stupid idea.

‘Great idea!’ says Dan. ‘I’ll go first.’ And there’s something about his ebullient demeanour that makes me wonder for the first time: What’s he planned? ‘We’ll go into the sitting room,’ he adds to Karen, ‘and I’ll pitch you my idea there, where Sylvie can’t hear. No listening at the door!’ he adds to me.

Pitch? What is this, Dragon’s bloody Den?

As he disappears into the sitting room with Karen, I shoot him a mistrustful look. Then I wander disconsolately into the kitchen, where the girls are hoovering up pasta with pesto and studiously ignoring their carrot sticks.

‘What does “virgin” mean?’ says Tessa at once.

I stare at her. ‘Virgin?’

‘Virgin.’ She raises her eyes to mine. ‘I don’t know what it means.’

‘Oh. Goodness. Right.’ I swallow, my mind scurrying around. ‘Well, it means … it’s a person who hasn’t yet … er …’ I trail off and reach for a carrot stick, playing for time.

‘It can’t be a person,’ objects Tessa. ‘How would they fit in?’

‘They would be too big,’ agrees Anna. She measures the width of herself with her hands, then squeezes them together tight. ‘You see?’ She looks at me as though making an obvious point. ‘Too big.’

‘Fit in?’ ‘Too big?’ My mind is ranging uneasily over various interpretations of these remarks. And why is Tessa talking about virgins, anyway?

‘Tessa,’ I say carefully. ‘Have children been talking in the playground, about … grown-up things?’

Do I have to have the whole chat, right here, right now? What is the chat, anyway? Oh God. I know you’re supposed to start early and be all frank like the Dutch, but I’m not saying the word ‘condom’ to my five-year-old, I’m just not …

‘I think it means tomato,’ volunteers Anna.

‘It’s not tomato,’ says Tessa scathingly. ‘It’s green. Green.’