Money went into a joint account, which he controlled, in that he monitored every transaction I made. But he wasn’t particularly mean. Plus, there are other ways. Melissa, again. On her suggestion, I opened a separate account for my foreign rights, and thus siphoned off some money for the children when they were at university. He was less generous with them. And if you’re wondering why I was brave enough to do these things, but too scared to leave, it was because I knew he’d find us. And it would be worse. He’d told me it would be. And showed me how. Once, when he was in New York and I said I’d take the children to my parents’ for half-term, he forbade it. We went, nevertheless. When we got home, a day after him, he was all smiles and hugs; he’d even made us a cake. That night the three of us were very sick. I’d thought it was the fish pie Mum had given us the night before, but when I rang her from the kitchen to see how she and Dad were, Michael took the cake from the side and, never taking his eyes off me, scraped it slowly into the bin. I stuttered a goodbye to Mum, chilled to my bones.

So no, I never left. But I encouraged the children to go, and Imo did. She went to Princeton University in New Jersey, which she adored. I’d urge her to stay with her friends in Connecticut too, when she was invited in the holidays. She was a popular girl. And even though she worried she was away too much, from me and Ned, she did, she stayed away.

But Ned dealt better with Michael. He didn’t shout and scream as Imo did; he blanked him. Ignored him. I think he was clever enough to find a place in his mind to retreat to, when necessary. I’m not even sure he listened: just mentally tuned him out. He certainly never answered back, which of course infuriated his father. And as I say, Ned didn’t go far. Away from home at eighteen, yes, but only to Oxford, where he read Geography. Then to Clapham, sharing with friends, while he worked in the City. Which just left me. And Michael. And increasingly, his women.