“Can’t let you threaten my family. Not Lisa, not Nick, not Maggie.” I had the sense I was listening to a track he had going on repeat in his head. Instinct told me not to move, not to speak. Then the fight kicked in.

“The only thing that is going to threaten your daughter is men like you—” I had a lot more to say, nearly three decades’ worth of fury.

Marcus lunged for me, but the seat belt held him back. He moved to undo it, fumbling with the buckle, as I shrank back, pressing myself against the window.

The phone rang. It was connected by USB to the van and the name Lisa flashed up on the screen on the dash. Before Marcus could stop me, my hand flicked out and accepted the call.

“Marc, Marc, where are you? Maggie’s lost her pig. She’s creating seven kinds of hell. Are you watching the game? I know it’s a pain in the arse, but she seems to think it’s in the van.” Lisa’s voice softened, became more intimate. “If you’ve got it, would you be the world’s best dad … Marc?”

At the sound of her voice, Marcus had frozen. As she chatted on, he sat there blinking like a man ripped from a dream. I don’t know why I didn’t say something. Now all I can think is that we had always kept one another’s secrets, Peter, Em, Marcus, and I.

Slowly I reached down, picked up the toy, and placed it gently in Marcus’s lap.

“Marc, can you hear me? Fucking football. Your daughter’s going mental. She’s desperate for the pig. She’s like Genghis Khan today.” In the background, a scream, starting low, ascending through the octaves.

At the sound of his daughter, Marcus snapped to. “I’m on my way.” He turned the keys in the ignition. The van jumped forward. Marcus made a U-turn, swerving half off the road, leaving ruts in the leaf mold.

“You won’t be long, will you?”

“Fifteen minutes tops.”

“All right then, love. Thanks.” Lisa hung up. I sat there not moving or saying a word, willing him to keep driving with every ounce of my being.