“I’m sure the law would see it differently.” So would her family; they’d never condemn her again. They’d always accused her; they’d always doubted her. Now they’d have nothing. No one could blame a victim. He could make all the decisions – she could waft by with presents and flowers and kisses. He took the children from me, but I’m still their mother. She could hear herself say it to some friendly passer-by as she held their hands on the village green, straightened their hats, knelt before them to do up their coats. How dreadful, the stranger would say – some respectable middle-aged woman in a felt hat – and Enid would reply, yes, dreadful and walk them home to Cherry Trees, kiss them goodbye at the door, walk away on a daily basis, go to her own sweet little house and do what she wanted. She could wave at them from the gates as they watched her leave, hear them shout: bring us more sweets on Saturday, Mamma, or some such chirrupy, happy farewell. She couldn’t harm them. They could love her.

“Don’t you miss them, Enid?”

She’d forgotten where she was. “Of course I miss them.” Her body had grown so used to the ache she didn’t feel it anymore.

“I’m sure they miss you terribly,” said Ruby, putting down her cup.

“I’m sure they don’t,” said Enid. The light shone spots on Fagus in his darkened room, on Finetta so unknown, on Ian running with the bean cane.

“Do you mean to accept him?”

“He has Everett and Mary. There’s no difference to them, is there?”

“To be without their mother?”

“They won’t be without me. He doesn’t say I can’t see them.”

“But Enid—”

Ruby had such a rosy view of everything. Perfect families, perfect friends, everyone good and whole. “He isn’t there most days, or wasn’t. I can’t see that that could have changed. And, for the time it’s taken him to answer, I shouldn’t wonder if he hasn’t been away too.”

“Then who has been looking after them?”

“The staff, I just told you. It’s a matter of logistics, Ruby. I never knew he’d want them. You’re right, I was in a state, I was—”