For the umpteenth time over the past hour, ever since Tom had texted to say they were pulling off the M4 into town, she glanced in the mirror hanging at head level on the living room wall.

Her reflection, from here, gave the impression of a decapitated head, and she studied it for any lingering impression of Ivan. A stray hair from where he had pulled her into him, a blotch of red skin where his morning stubble had scraped against her lips.

‘Bloody hell, it’s clean in here …’ Tom said as he moved through the hallway.

It was the part of the house she had scrubbed last, carefully polishing the glass frames tacked to the wall, avoiding locking eyes with the faces of her children: a picture of Sadie from a couple of summers ago perched nervously on the lowest branch of the climbing tree in Kenwood, meeting the camera’s gaze; Callum, barely toddling, his arms outstretched to the person behind the camera.

When she had placed the frames there, beside the photo of herself and her mother in the same spot, taken by her father, the image of the children had seemed so full of love, yet now as she looked properly at the lines of Callum’s features, she saw that he was screaming.

‘Hey darling,’ she said, turning to Sadie as she approached, a rucksack Gabriela didn’t recognise slung over her arm.

‘Hello,’ her daughter replied, raising her head to receive a kiss. Picking up Callum and holding him tight, following her daughter into the kitchen, she was suddenly desperate to be near them and with her free hand stroked her fingers through Sadie’s hair as she settled at the table, slumping her chin between bowed arms on the newly scoured plastic tablecloth.

‘You hungry?’ Gabriela asked and Sadie shrugged, non-committal.

‘Bit.’

‘So how was Saoirse?’

‘Good.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Can I watch some TV before dinner?’

Gabriela watched Sadie push back her chair. ‘Sure. Hey Sadie, I was thinking you and me should …’

But by then Sadie had already left the room.

‘Why didn’t you come with us?’ Callum asked later as she picked him out of the bath, holding him against her wrapped in the Ninja Turtles towel that was suddenly too small.

She twisted him to face her, arranging her features into a picture of brightness. ‘I know, it’s boring, isn’t it? Believe me, I didn’t want to leave you either, but I’m going to be around the whole time next weekend. I won’t look at my phone once, and you and I are going to go somewhere special.’

‘Peppa Pig World?’ he asked, his gaze unwavering.

‘Not Peppa Pig World,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘But … there is a new movie I reckon you’re going to want to see, and I think there is the possibility of a very large bag of pick ’n’ mix to go with it. What do you say?’