‘Sorry?’ she said, after a moment. ‘I thought you loved this house—’

‘I don’t mean I want another house … What I mean is that I think we should move somewhere totally different. The coast, near Saoirse and Jim, maybe? Or, I don’t know, anywhere: southern Spain? We talked about that, didn’t we, years ago, how one day we’d travel, buy an old finca and—’

She tuned out his voice, unsure whether this was his idea of a joke.

For a moment she was silent, struggling to find a reasonable answer as to why they shouldn’t go. It was true, when she was pregnant with Sadie they had fantasised about downsizing one day, relocating to somewhere hot and rural, living off the fat of the land – and the proceeds of the house.

But that was a lifetime ago, before any of this. Before she realised that the idea of living in a remote house anywhere with only Tom and the children for company made her want to crawl under a rock and die. Before she had placed the detonator under the foundation of their lives and waited for them all to be destroyed.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ Tom said. ‘I know it sounds a bit reckless, but I mean, Jesus Christ, you only live once, don’t you? And your job … Come on, you can’t tell me it’s making you happy? You’re miserable, and Callum has only just started big school, it’s the perfect time to do it. Besides, the house must be worth a fortune by now.’

‘It’s my house,’ she said, before she could stop herself.

Seeing the hurt in his expression, she softened her tone. ‘Tom, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that – but I can’t. I’m not miserable, I’m just busy – I’m at the critical part of an operation and … I’ve got to go away.’

The final words came out before she had time to properly form them.

‘What?’

She breathed in. ‘I have to go back to Moscow for a while.’

Tom’s voice was faint, ‘What’s a while?’

Gabriela had already made the mental calculations. If she left in a month’s time, she would be four months pregnant – any longer than that and she couldn’t guarantee she would not be showing more than she could possibly explain away, not the third time around. Even if it had been so long that she couldn’t remember the last time Tom had seen her naked.

‘I don’t know exactly – seven, maybe eight months?’

‘Eight months?’ he echoed, disbelieving. He seemed to be beyond words. The following silence was crippling. There was nothing she could do but fill it.