He didn’t trample over her, though. He didn’t flinch from the real her, either. Instead he listened, really listened, without interrupting and when eventually she had finished, ending with an anxious ‘I’m sorry’, his reply contained sincere compassion. ‘Oh, Liv. You don’t need to say sorry,’ he told her. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m sorry for not having realized you were feeling like that. I’m really, really sorry. But we’re going to make a few changes from now on. Right? We’ll dig you out of this hole together.’

She’d shut her eyes for a moment, surprised that he was even saying the word ‘together’. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, her voice practically a whisper. ‘Even though I . . .’ The words were lodged in her throat; she had to force them out. ‘Even though I ran away?’

‘Yes! Of course I’m sure. I love you. We’re married,’ he cried.

We’re married. Such a strange line of reasoning, she thought. Marriage hadn’t stopped her mum from leaving the family forever, had it? It hadn’t stopped her from emigrating to another country and eventually dying there without an explanation, without an apology.

But then she remembered Danny’s words earlier: You’re not Mum, and she forced herself to listen to them. Accept them. No. She wasn’t Sylvia. She had made mistakes – mistakes all over the place – but she wanted to put them right now.

‘We’re married,’ she echoed, as if it was that simple. Maybe on one level it was that simple. We’re married. Together. So we’ll see this through together. The thought was immensely comforting, as if she’d only just noticed the safety net beneath her. She’d been running for so long, she realized. Not just this week down to Cornwall, but ever since Aidan had died, and Leon had been born, she had been ducking and dodging: from the truth, from her own actions and the pain they had caused. Perhaps part of loving someone was stopping and facing those things. Holding hands and standing firm.

‘Anyway, now that I’ve had the pleasure of solo childcare since you left, I get it,’ Mack was saying in her ear. ‘I hadn’t really appreciated before just how—Talk of the devil.’ He broke off, a new severity appearing in his voice. ‘Oi! Stanley, get off him. Stanley! I’m going to count to three and if you don’t stop that, there’s going to be trouble. One . . . Okay, that’s better.’