It was four months to the day since she’d walked out of the office, though the specific date only occurred to her later on. She had been distracted by the fight she and Tom had had that morning, though it wasn’t so much a fight, when she thought back on it, as a stalemate: a lingering cloud of resentment that hung over every room of their home. She couldn’t even remember what the argument was about, only the feeling; the same dull ache that for so long had stretched in front of them, like an elastic band waiting to snap.

Unfair as it was, she felt a growing bitterness towards him that she knew was illogical. She had jeopardised everything she held dear in order to protect them, to protect their children, to protect Tom, and yet she couldn’t even tell him. Irrational though it was, she couldn’t help but resent him for the burden she had to carry alone.

She had been so deep in thought that morning, browsing in Waterstones on Charing Cross for as long as she could, trying to transport herself elsewhere, before continuing to wander the streets of London, that when she looked up and saw him there again, the two of them walking towards one another on Crown Passage, for a moment she felt as if she had been tugged from one world into the next.

‘Hi,’ he said first.

‘Ivan?’

Their eyes caught and for a moment neither of them spoke, but then they slowed down, clearly both heading for the same place.

‘You going in?’ He didn’t move towards the bistro and for a moment she didn’t reply, ambushed as she was by these feelings that suddenly surged inside her as she stood opposite this man who was practically a stranger.

He pushed open the door to let her through and she smiled.

‘I’m sorry, you didn’t tell me your name …’ he said and she blushed.

‘It’s Gabriela.’

The coolness of the restaurant compared to the street was almost chilling and she held her arms across her chest for warmth.

‘Table for two?’

A waitress she didn’t recognise spoke and then turned, ushering them towards the only free table, near the back of the room, before they could object. Turning briefly to her and pulling a face as if to say What can you do? Ivan followed and Gabriela’s feet moved after him, as if by their own will.

Lowering herself into the chair and watching Ivan do the same, she felt their legs brush against each other under the table.

‘Sorry,’ she said, rearranging herself, but he didn’t respond.

‘So, do you know what you’ll have?’ the waitress asked, her face moving between them.

‘Oh, I’ll— you go ahead. I’m going to the loo.’