She pulled out the small, floppy-haired rabbit, the same baby blue fur, the same velveteen ears as the stuffed toy Saoirse and Jim had bought for him when he was a baby, and which had barely left Callum’s side before he gave it to her, to keep her warm on her trip.

Before he had even taken the toy in his hands, he said, ‘That’s not Otto.’

Blanching slightly, she laughed. ‘What are you on about, you funny thing? Of course it’s Otto, who else would it be?’

There was a note in her voice and she felt Sadie turn to look, interested now.

‘His hair is too blue and his eyes aren’t the same.’

She turned to Sadie, rolling her eyes affectionately, before turning back to Callum.

‘Oh, darling, you just don’t recognise him because it’s been so long … His fur just looks a little different because I gave him a wash. You should have seen him, after all our adventures … He was filthy!’

Gathering up the chocolate and the booze, she stood and held out her hands. ‘Now, I think Dad’s making dinner – are you going to help me give him these pressies, hmm?’

Letting Otto hang by his arm, Callum followed her to the counter.

It was only once the children had gone to bed that she realised how much she was dreading being left alone with Tom. Callum’s eyes had been drooping as bedtime approached, his head lolling against her arm as they watched the familiar Friday night TV, the canned laughter of the audience adding a hint of menace. She longed to hold him there, to keep this barrier between herself and Tom, and the inevitable questions, the closeness that she could not give him, not yet.

Sadie had curled her feet under her legs on the far side of the sofa, and whenever Gabriela tried to catch her eye, she felt Sadie’s gaze fix more firmly on the television set.

‘Well, I think it’s time you kids headed up,’ Tom said when the credits began to roll on a repeat of The Simpsons, signalling it was eight o’clock.

‘I don’t want to,’ Callum said, as Sadie picked herself up from the sofa, without a word.

‘Come on, son. Mummy’s knackered. We all need to go to sleep now, it’s late,’ Tom cajoled him.

‘I want a story,’ Callum persevered.

‘Not tonight, you’ve already stayed up past your bedtime …’

‘It’s fine,’ Gabriela interrupted, grateful for the extra time with the children, for the intimacy of those precious moments she’d wished away when they were tiny, curled up on the bed reading Goodnight Moon.

It was once she was back downstairs, the sound of the water she’d just turned on crashing against the bathtub above the living room, that she felt the sense of dread closing in.