‘I’ve missed you, so much,’ she said, her throat swelling, wanting to stop time; to pause the four of them, the smell of shop-bought lasagne drifting in from the kitchen. And yet, how could she think that? Instinctively, her breasts pricked as if scolding her, and she pictured Layla. How could she overlook her baby so easily? And then, before she could stop herself, she thought of Ivan, picturing him as a manifold: one body but two men. The Ivan she had met that day on Crown Passage, the bereaved father, the autonomous, decisive businessman, the person who had rushed her off her feet. And then who? What did she see next? Pushing the second image away before it could come fully into focus, she heard Tom speak again.

‘I’ve missed you too.’ There was almost a ferocity to his voice and she let herself fall into him again, her fingers clinging to his back, realising how tired she was. How utterly out of her depth.

‘I bought presents,’ she said in a bid to distract herself from the memory of what she’d left behind.

Hauling the suitcase into the kitchen, she felt winded as she reached into the side pocket of her suitcase.

‘Wine?’ Tom asked, and she nodded, grateful for anything to take the edge off. Anything to soften the claws tearing at her throat.

‘OK, so this is for you,’ she said, once she was settled on the sofa, the smell of it both familiar and unsettling; the same hot-rock burns – scars from the nights when Tom and she would lie here for hours in stoned silence in the early days.

This room had become an almost constant backdrop: her past and her present – and yet what of the future?

Sadie smiled politely as she lifted up the sticker book and the collectable plastic toy. Gabriela instantly regretted them as she saw her daughter’s face drop; it was the sort of present she would have loved once, but now the inappropriateness of the selection made her cheeks flare with embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry, there wasn’t much in Moscow. If I’m honest, I bought them at the airport on the way back. I didn’t think you’d fancy a matryoshka doll.’

As she said it, she realised Sadie probably would have.

Quickly, she added, ‘We’ll go shopping, an early birthday present, OK?’

Reaching back into her bag for the bars of chocolate and the bottle of whisky she had bought for Tom, she heard Callum, who was clutching the blue train she’d bought him, utter the words she had been dreading.

‘Where’s Otto?’

Without flinching she reached further into her bag. ‘Here he is.’