Why did he pursue it? I used to wonder. Why humiliate them both? Sexual intercourse petrified my mother. I suppose my mind couldn’t take in the contradiction that he really did love her and want her. That the others were all substitutes, not additional pleasures.

That afternoon they thought I was asleep in the gazebo. Carelessly they left ajar the door to their delicate nest of a bedroom, its windows edged with draped chintz the colour of clotted cream, stained with bright crimson flowers.

‘It’s been so long,’ he begged. I had a wider viewing strip than usual. I had learned to move absolutely silently. He was kneeling at her feet naked, offering himself to her, his erection a dark branch in front. I called his penis his pleaser. I didn’t know the proper name for it then. ‘Please, my darling. I need you so much.’

‘No. Don’t, Alec. No.’ Mummy’s voice came out as a moan. I could just see the edge of her silky, peach-coloured gown and imagined her with her arms clasped across her breasts, shutting him out, her face distraught.

‘Let me just touch you. You know sometimes if you relax you can . . .’

‘No – I can’t.’

‘You won’t have a baby – you know you won’t. It’s all right.’

‘Please, Alec, why must you do this? It’s so horrible, I can’t bear it. Go to anyone you like if you have to but please leave me.’ Her voice was high and tearful.

‘But you’re my wife, Elizabeth.’

She moved over to the bed and backed up against the pillows, pulling her knees up. She looked so little with her wispy hair all hanging down, sitting there, cornered.

‘Come on,’ he wheedled. ‘Just unfasten it, that’s a good girl. Just lie back. There. Isn’t that nice? You like this, don’t you?’

He latched his mouth on to one of her breasts. She gave a whimper of distress. I suppose he fooled himself it was pleasure.

‘Now – there’s a good girl – ’ His voice was low and hypnotic. ‘Just open up now – let me in and it will all be all right.’

I couldn’t see their faces. He had climbed over her, his body, strong and agile, already moving above her.

‘No!’ she cried.

I pulled my arm across my mouth and bit into it, hurting myself, listening to their sounds.

‘I’ve got to,’ he grunted. ‘You’ve got to let me. You cold bitch!’ His voice rose to a great roar. ‘Let me in – now.’

Her sobs filled the room. I bit myself harder, harder. ‘I can’t. I can’t bear it.’

‘Touch me then, quickly for God’s sake – hold me. Tighter. That’s it – yes – harder . . .’

Something I hadn’t seen before. He came with his pleaser spurting between her tiny hands, his noises ecstatic, angry, all at once. There were a few seconds of silence. My arm was smarting, indented with deep pink curves.

Mummy cried and cried. She always did.