She let him have the full force of her fist on his nose, punching so hard she jarred her elbow. His eyes snapped shut instantly in pain, hands jerking up to his face. He held them out again, seeing them stained red. Blood fell in long strokes down the grey shirt.

‘Jesus.’ The hurt tone turned to fury. ‘What is the matter with you?’ He groped at the box of multi-coloured tissues on the worktop.

‘We lost our baby,’ she heard herself shrieking at him. ‘And it was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me in my life and you didn’t say anything. Not one fucking thing. And my mother’s dead and you couldn’t even be bothered to come with me to the funeral. All the hours I’ve spent listening to you about your bloody job and you’ve never listened to me when I needed you to. I don’t want to talk to you now – ’ her voice grew quieter – ‘I’ve got things to do. I’ve found Olivia and she lost her baby too and I want . . . I want . . .’

Incoherent, she found herself sobbing, bent over next to the sink, breathless with it, a pool of pain inside her draining out.

‘Oh God,’ she cried after a few moments. ‘It’s all so sad. Why is life so sad?’

Richard stood watching her warily, a pad of tissues pressed to his nose, blood on his chin.

‘You didn’t want us to have a child, did you?’ She spoke with her back to him. ‘It didn’t mean anything to you.’

‘I don’t know. It was so sudden. It’s not as if we planned it.’

‘Planned it.’ She turned, scornful. ‘You can’t just plan everything.’

‘It was different for you. Maybe you were ready for it and I wasn’t. And you could feel it. It wasn’t real to me.’

‘But you said you felt it – felt it flutter under your hand.’

‘Sorry.’ He gave a long sigh. ‘Something I’m not very good at, I suppose. It’s a long time ago now.’

‘Eight months!’ she flared at him again. ‘What’s eight bloody months? Some things stay with people for the rest of their lives, Richard, they don’t just disappear all finished with. You can’t just organize them away. How can you work with people like you do when you know nothing, you understand nothing?’

‘My job’s about practical decisions,’ Richard said sternly. ‘Not emotions.’

Anna turned away. ‘I don’t want to talk about your job. Not again.’

For a moment the only sound was Kate’s clock, ticking across the kitchen.

‘Look – ’ He approached her again, though his voice sounded ridiculous because his hand was still clamping a pink tissue over his nose. ‘You need some space, that’s all. A rest. Come home and take it easy, even if you’re not working. You can take your time, look for another job. We’ll talk . . .’

‘Richard.’ She looked strongly into his eyes, her own red and still full of tears. ‘I’m not coming back to Coventry. I can’t live with you any more. You and I are not good for each other.’