Her heart leaps into her mouth. Gordon Allingham’s all-too-familiar drawl jolts her into action. She presses forward, her hand firm on the gate, but before she can secure it he pushes against the wood with such force she is sent stumbling.

‘It’s rather rude to try and shut me out when I’ve only just arrived.’

‘You have no right to be here. You’re not welcome.’

‘I want to see my son.’

Their shoulders collide as he shoves past her. She catches the sickly waft of spirits and knows he is drunk. He is moving quickly now, striding with purpose towards the farmhouse. She starts after him, calling his name, though she muffles her voice, conscious she does not want to wake Tom or attract any unwanted attention. She reaches for his arm, her fingers forming a vicelike grip as she yanks him round.

‘Get out of here.’

‘I want to see my son.’ He looms over her. She is suddenly aware of the powerful pulse of his inebriated energy.

‘He’s not your son. Why won’t you listen to me?’

‘And why won’t you do the right thing?’ His voice blasts through the darkness. He staggers away from her, bitterness oozing from every pore. ‘I told Helen she was wasting her time. She thought you’d see reason, she thought any mother would do what’s best for their child when the realities were laid before them, but oh no! Not you!’

‘He is my son and he is nothing to do with you.’

‘Lies. Why are you insisting on spouting what we both know to be lies, Gwen? He is my son – that is an indisputable fact, and another indisputable fact is that the life I can give him far exceeds the one he would have with you.’

‘He is my son. He will be loved and cherished and provided for and he will be free to pursue any dreams and ambitions he might have, and I hope he achieves them – through his own his efforts. Love and stability and support are the foundations a child needs to create a wonderful life, Gordon, and my son will have those in abundance.’

‘You naïve fool. Can you really be so stupid as to think life is a fairy tale where good things fall into the lap of those who deserve them? Don’t be so idiotic, Gwen … you’re simply trying to excuse your own selfishness.’

‘He’s not yours, Gordon. I’m sorry I tried to mislead you all those years ago, but enough is enough. He is my husband’s son.’

‘Your husband?’ He throws back his head and laughs. ‘Your husband. This fantasy of yours has to end, Gwen, for all our sakes.’

‘It seems to me, Mr Allingham, it is your misguided fantasy that needs to end.’