‘So, are you going to tell me what it was like?’ he asked, once she emerged from the bathroom, the bedrooms upstairs having fallen silent.

What would the time be in Moscow? she wondered, looking up at the clock, which read 21.33. It would be past midnight. For a moment, she shuddered, stifling a yawn, and Tom lifted his head slightly to look at her.

‘It’s OK, we don’t need to talk now … you need to sleep. I’ve changed the sheets so it should be nice and cosy. Why don’t you head on up and I’ll turn off the lights down here?’

She nodded, smiling gratefully, and walked towards the door, turning briefly to watch him going through the usual evening routine, admitting to herself for the first time they were living on borrowed time.

The next morning was a Saturday. At some time around nine, Callum idled at the doorway to the bedroom before slipping in and climbing under the covers, as he had used to when he was tiny. Tom had already gone downstairs, believing Gabriela to still be asleep. When Sadie appeared in the doorway a while later, she beckoned her inside.

‘I missed you,’ Sadie said after a few moments, her voice so quiet Gabriela wasn’t sure whether she wanted her to hear it. Pressing her eyes together tightly, she ran her fingers gently over Sadie’s hair.

By the time they emerged in the kitchen, it was nearly ten. The back door was open, presumably to purge the smell of burnt toast.

She hadn’t slept so long or so deeply since before she’d left the children, despite all that should be keeping her awake, and there was something both disorientating and guilt-inducing about the experience.

‘I’ve made poached eggs,’ Tom announced, turning to her and smiling.

‘Sounds perfect,’ she replied, taking a seat at the table next to Sadie who immediately set to work, writing neatly in her school-book.

‘What topic are you doing this term?’ she asked, leaning in and inhaling deeply to soak up the smell of her, admiring the pale pink roses on her pyjamas. ‘Are those new?’ she continued before Sadie could answer her initial question, and Sadie nodded.

‘Dad bought them.’

For a moment she felt irrationally wounded. There was so much she didn’t know about the past few months, so many questions she had been unable – or unwilling – to ask, during their snatched phone calls.

‘One egg or two?’

She cleared a space on the table as Tom placed the plate in front of her, on which he had already served toast and two eggs.

‘This looks great, thank you.’