‘What are these?’ Ashley had asked, drawing a photo out by its corner. It was a photo from the Mantels’ nursery project: the ceiling of the bedroom. Spurred on by their wish that it be a sensory calming space, Alice had taken the nursery mobile concept one step further and fixed a thousand origami cranes, in different pastel shades, to the ceiling. She remembered how peaceful it was to lie on the tatami mats below and watch them shift with the gentle breeze through the window. ‘Did you work on this?’ Ashley asked.

‘Yes,’ Alice sighed, quickly trying to push it back under the pile of other photos. She thought she’d removed all the photographs of the Mantels’, fearing it wouldn’t impress.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Ashley said, holding the corner down with her thumbnail and scrutinising it carefully. ‘The use of light is very clever, the contrast of materials… this is professional level, Alice.’

‘Thank you,’ Alice said sincerely. It was gratifying to hear that someone liked it, after all the time she’d put into it. She opened her mouth to say ‘The client didn’t agree’, but stopped. Ashley didn’t need to hear about that. It was enough that she appreciated it.

The course finished at four. Lilly, Vita’s nanny, had agreed to collect the children from school and bring them home. In preparation, she had done the school run with Alice the last two Mondays – Charlotte needed to spend time with new people before Alice could leave them alone. Fortunately, they hit it off. Lilly was totally relaxed, taking Charlotte’s behaviours in her stride. ‘Fred told me you were into K Pop,’ Lilly said. I bet he did, thought Alice. She imagined it was all Charlotte mentioned in school. ‘And is this Dimples? What does he fancy for dinner today?’ She had a low, calm voice and Charlotte warmed to her immediately. It was the first time Alice had been able to leave the children with anyone since they were small. Even her parents hadn’t been able to cope with Charlotte, didn’t understand why she was so ‘difficult’. And I thought you were hard work, her mother would mutter. And the last time she’d left her with Ted, to go to Paris, had been a disaster on so many levels. She felt lighter by an afternoon out the house; less weighed down by the relentlessness of parenthood.

She watched London pass by through the bus windows. For the first time in a long while she didn’t feel stress clamped to her heart like a vice. It was a beautiful day, russet and amber leaves spiralling from the sky as the season turned, and she impulsively pressed the bell as the bus drew towards Hyde Park.

She crunched through the drifts of leaves in the park, tuned in to the small interactions around her. Children laughing and asking for ice cream despite the cold, parents asking what had happened to their left glove – Did you drop it? Over there? – and personal trainers motivating their clients, who puffed scarlet-faced, performing burpees on the hard ground. And then she heard her favourite voice of all, deep and earthy; it drifted into her consciousness like a warm and welcome breeze.