The first time there was a programme at the son's school, his father and I both went. We reached a little early and the programme started a little late. In that half hour, P lost interest and left. I don't remember now if he made some excuse about having work, but it was a moot point anyway. As editors, we have pressing deadlines, but they're never apocalyptic. If we take an hour off, the world doesn't end and neither does anyone die.

For the next two years, every PTM and every programme was prefaced by a promise to definitely go this time and an inevitable cancellation on that day. I don't remember when this stopped upsetting me. There were so many other things to worry about that I rather quickly became impervious to the pain of waking up on yet another special school day to the sight of P drinking himself into a stupor, deliberately it always felt. And the kids stopped asking or expecting to see their father at school.

As I head out for another Annual Day programme on my own, the only thing that makes this time different from the last is the fact that there is no expectation and therefore no last-minute disappointment. And that, I realise, makes all the difference between happiness and emptiness. Being a single mum is never a lonely feeling, being half of a pair of parents is.