‘I’d love to come again,’ Roland said. He lingered by the pram before leaving. ‘And perhaps she’ll be awake next time?’ I assured him of a welcome.

Douglas found the ashtray, forgotten between the chairs in the garden, when he came home from work. He went outside for a smoke in the summer evening air and came crashing back in again, holding the ashtray away from him like a half-decayed bird.

‘Who’s been here?’ he demanded, in the self-righteous voice that I was coming to loathe.

Olivia sat very still watching us, the baby on her lap.

‘Oh, just Roland,’ I said casually. I was shelling peas in the kitchen, refusing to be ruffled by this ridiculousness.

‘Roland? That’s him, isn’t it – the one I saw you with at the station?’

He advanced into the kitchen, his face ugly, and slung the glass ashtray down on the draining board, pettishly and too hard.

‘D’you mind?’ I protested. I dried my hands on my apron, preparing to walk away before I really let rip with my temper and announced that Roland had been the most pleasant and normal company I had had for weeks.

‘Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?’

I clenched my teeth. ‘Because I didn’t know. He was just on his way from somewhere I think. I didn’t ask.’

‘How many times has he been here before?’ He leaned up against the sink, menacingly close to me. It was so silly and alienating. I felt impatience choking me.

Just controlling my voice, I said, ‘That was the first time. And I don’t really see it’s any business of yours. He was passing and he wanted to see Anna. Some men actually like babies,’ I finished bitterly.

‘It is my business.’ He pushed his face too close to mine and the expression in his eyes was very cold. ‘This is my house and you are my wife. I won’t have you entertaining other men under my roof.’

I always felt at my most strong and perverse when he was like this. I knew I didn’t have the attitude of subservience apparently expected of a ‘good’ wife. Even trying to have it would have suffocated me. I could hear Granny Munro saying, ‘Don’t let anyone take your life away from you. It’s not worth it in the end. It’s only convention.’

I stared Douglas in the face and said something that I am still ashamed of now for its cruelty. ‘You’re useless to me, Douglas. Completely useless.’

He picked up the pan into which I had been shelling peas and smashed it as hard as he could through the kitchen window, peas and all. Glass tinkled down on to the flower pots outside. I heard you, Anna, begin howling in the adjoining room, startled by the noise. At the time I felt most annoyed about the peas going out after I’d spent all that time shelling them.

Douglas stood for a second looking stunned and foolish. Then, as if it was his masterstroke, he brought out the announcement, ‘What I came home to tell you is that I’ve got the job. We’re leaving for London.’