I swung around. He was at the top of the stairs.

‘Yes, fine.’

‘Who’s the letter from?’

I stared at him. ‘Helena. Haranguing me again. Apparently I’ve got some of her clothes.’

‘As if she hasn’t got an entire shop-full!’

‘Well, quite.’

I pocketed the letter. And then later, something made me burn it. I rang Dad and said all was well, but thank you. And we were both quite brisk on the phone. Quite … polite. I knew it was as far as he’d go.

We got married in Twickenham, in the same church where Michael’s parents had married, and where they were buried in the churchyard. Obviously I showed a bit in my dress, but everyone said I looked lovely. I would have preferred a registry office, under the circumstances, but Michael insisted, and the vicar didn’t seem to mind. There was quite a lot from the vicar – a family friend – in the address about Michael’s parents. And quite a lot in Michael’s speech, too. About how he wished they could be here. He had to stop as he got emotional: whipped his hanky out. Amanda was sobbing quietly and had to be led away. It wasn’t really the most joyful of occasions. And if I’m honest, in a funny sort of way, I felt a bit miffed. He never spoke about his parents to me, and yet here he was, talking openly to lots of people. But the moment passed. And it was good later on, when my family and friends hit the champagne at the reception and danced like mad.

Michael said later that they hadn’t shown enough respect: that my father should have mentioned his parents in his speech, which was too much about me. I was flabbergasted. We had a furious row, on our wedding night. I wasn’t to know it was to be the first of many.

Imogen was born in September, and then, rather swiftly, Ned followed. After that, I said, no more. And made sure of it, quietly. Michael wasn’t always very nice to them. He shouted at them. Not when they were babies, but certainly as small children, a lot. And at me, a lot. We grew to fear him. Imogen once told me she hated him. She was about fourteen at the time. She burst into noisy floods of tears and said her most fervent wish was never to see him again in her life. The jokes were all reserved for his friends now and his temper had become terrifying. Much worse than the clipped irritation I’d previously witnessed, which had no doubt masked the real thing. In those early days of our marriage, it was loud and voluble. The hissing came later, after a concerned neighbour knocked on the door. A couple of times, actually. Asked if everything was OK.