Anna looked at him in amazement. When Richard was forced to have time off it amounted to a tragedy. ‘Isn’t Saturday your best day?’

Jake gave an ironic grin. ‘It’s only money. Don’t worry, Ben. We’ll be here.’

‘Good.’ Ben picked up his sweatshirt from the chair with sudden energy. Petulantly, he said, ‘Well, I’m off to find somewhere else to live.’

Anna and Jake stood looking round the long room, amid the mess and the sour smell. The house felt very quiet. There was an occasional drip of water in a corner by the window, a fly circling somewhere at the back.

‘I wonder where the hell Krish’s gone,’ Jake said. He went to the front window, stepping on the squelching fringe of burnt cloth, and looked out.

‘D’you think we should be worrying about him?’

‘I don’t know.’ Restlessly he came back to her. ‘God, Anna, what’s going to happen to them both?’

She shook her head. ‘They need someone else in on this, don’t they? Help of some sort. Only it seems inconceivable after what she went through last time.’

‘Things have come on a bit since then,’ Jake said.

‘I should hope so.’

They stood close together in silence in the desolate room. Eyes troubled, Anna saw the look in his, and she turned away, frightened by the frank tenderness she found. She stood half facing him, tousling her hair nervously with one hand.

‘I suppose we ought to clear up.’

He didn’t answer immediately, and she had moved to the table, started shifting the chairs away so they could work on the floor. ‘Anna?’

She knew what he wanted – for her to turn and look at him, to go to him – but she felt perverse and raw. Too shocked by all that had happened. In the end, rather gruffly, she just said, ‘What?’

Jake’s mouth lifted gently into a smile. ‘Nothing. You’re right. We ought to clean up.’

They spent the next few hours sweeping and scrubbing and mopping. There was a huge relief in this activity, a physical outlet which helped ease the tension of wondering where Krish was and when Olivia would wake and what would happen when she did. And of the feelings each knew were gathering between them across the room, unspoken.

As they worked together, Anna was vividly aware of him even if she was not actually looking in his direction: of his shape, the long legs, the large, rough hands, bruised left middle fingernail, the lines of his thick brown hair. His movements impinged on her, pulled her mind off track.

Their conversation became foolish and self-conscious.

‘It’s a good job she didn’t have carpet in here,’ Anna said after a while. ‘This should clean up all right.’

‘Won’t do the parquet much good though,’ he replied. ‘Might start curling up.’

‘What a shame,’ she agreed. ‘Such a lovely room.’

They made sandwiches for lunch, talked about Krish, Anna smoking. By late afternoon, having cleaned the room from top to bottom with almost unnecessary thoroughness, they were running out of things to do. They stood surveying their work.