She looks up at Tom and his face looks old. He doesn’t say anything and she returns her attention to their children. ‘Come on,’ she says. ‘It’s still so early. You two are sleeping up here. You can play if you like, but don’t be too loud, there’s a little person asleep in the room next to you.’

‘What little person?’ Callum asks at the same time as Sadie says, ‘Mum, what’s going on?’ and she squeezes her arm.

‘I’ll explain soon; it’s a long story and I need to talk to your dad.’

When she walks back into the kitchen, Tom has poured himself a drink from a bottle on the side. He makes no attempt to offer her one.

‘I spoke to Saoirse, she rang as she was leaving. Whose kid is it, Gabriela?’

Moving to the cupboard and fetching another glass, she pours herself a brandy and sits at the kitchen table.

‘Her name is Layla. She’s the daughter of one of the women who was trafficked to the UK, who was working for us.’ She pauses, gathering herself. ‘The case imploded. One of our moles leaked information back to the traffickers and—’

She waits, allowing Tom’s imagination to fill in the gaps.

Closing her eyes, she takes a moment to hold herself within the narrative she has been building in her mind over the past day.

He takes a swig of his drink. ‘Shit.’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It’s really shit. This child’s mother is dead, and it’s my fault.’

‘Gabriela,’ Tom reaches his hand across the table. ‘I’m sure it’s not. Where are you taking her now?’

There is a challenge in his voice that belies the pragmatism of his words.

She pauses. ‘I’m going to look after her. We are. Because if we don’t they’ll find her and they’ll kill her too.’

Tom is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his face moves into an expression that is almost a smile. ‘Sorry?’

She holds his eye, her jaw tensed. ‘I have to, Tom.’

Any trace of a smile disappears then. ‘No, you bloody don’t. What about us, for God’s sake? Your family? I mean Jesus, Gabriela, if they’re after the baby that means you’re putting our kids in jeopardy!’

She has prepared herself for this reaction, but she knows Tom, she knows that he cannot keep it up, this level of resistance to her. She knows that she has no other option than to push through, to make him understand that this is what is happening.

‘There is no way they can connect the baby to me.’

‘Well then, give her back!’ Tom’s expression has settled into horrified indignation. ‘I mean, what the fuck, you’re not making any sense! How are we even having this conversation?’

‘If I give her back, she’ll go into care.’