As soon as she’d scurried into the back of the house, I opened the sitting-room door. My heart soared as I saw my scruffy little dog rushing around the huge back lawn, barking at the trees that bowed like courtly dancers in the wind, at the wood-pigeons pecking at the half-empty stone fountain.

‘Digby!’ I rushed towards the French windows.

‘Wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon, Maggie.’ That voice, like nails on sandpaper. I jumped guiltily. ‘Can I help?’

‘I’ve,’ I cleared my throat as I turned slowly, ‘I’ve just come to get the dog. My dog.’

‘And you’ve cleared it with my boy, have you?’ Malcolm sauntered towards me, hands in pockets, his barrel chest as puffed out as the pigeons Digby was hounding.

I stared at him. ‘No, actually.’

‘Well, I think you better had, don’t you?’

I had the strange sensation that my life was flashing before my eyes suddenly, rather like a drowning woman’s would.

‘Why? Alex wasn’t interested in Digby when he left me.’

‘He left you, did he? That’s not what I heard.’

‘What?’ I was confused.

‘I thought you abandoned him. I think you’d better leave the dog.’

‘Look, Malcolm, why do you care? You’re so foul to Alex anyway –’

‘Foul?’ His strong, cruel face darkened.

‘Yeah, foul.’ I moved towards the door, towards my dog. Then I turned back. ‘I mean, why exactly do you despise your eldest son so much? I don’t get it. Especially when he obviously reveres you.’

‘I don’t despise him,’ he scowled.

‘You do. You certainly act like you do, anyway.’

Malcolm stared at me as if he’d never even countenanced this before. ‘I just get frustrated,’ he said slowly. ‘He’s had every chance I never had, because he had the best education money could buy –’ He did so love the sound of his own opinions.

‘But I’d say it has served him pretty well, that education.’

‘Maybe.’ He shrugged noncommittally. ‘Maybe I’m tough because I had it so rough myself as a kid – and it shaped me really. If you’d seen the beatings my dad dealt my poor mother –’

Oh, the old boo-hoo. Only Renee could match Malcolm for the working-class hero bullshit, and I was sick of it, quite honestly.

‘So you’re punishing Alex for your childhood, are you?’

Digby had spotted us now, bounding to the door in great excitement, barking madly. I opened the door and knelt to let the dog slather my face with big pink licks.

‘You know, Malcolm, nothing’s as valuable as a parent’s love. I learned that the hard way too, actually. And Alex needs you.’

‘Needs me?’ he snorted. ‘He’s thirty-two years old.’

‘Yeah – needs you.’ I stood up. ‘You’re his dad.’

I’d never seen Malcolm stuck for words before.