‘You can’t change that.’

‘I know.’

‘Maisie loves you. And you love Maisie. That should be enough for you to get on and do your job as a father.’

‘But you think I raped you.’

‘Yes, and you say that you didn’t. I don’t want to hear it again. I’m only here for Maisie.’

‘We have to.’

‘Have to what?’

‘Go over it again. I’m sorry, but I can’t live knowing that you think that about me. That’s why I couldn’t – that’s why I didn’t – for you to even think that about me … I can’t live with it.’

Becky had gone to the kitchen island then, and taken down two mugs, and boiled a kettle to make them coffee. Black, for want of milk. He had sat, stubbled and lank, on the edge of his armchair. She had felt his eyes on her but she did not look up to meet them. She knew he wanted her to throw her arms around him like a movie heroine proclaiming that they could move on and build something new.

But there would be no heat or ice or raised voices and healing embraces from her. He was a collection of bones, he was flesh, he was a badly wired brain and a heart without a beat now. Her heart had closed to him. She pitied him. That was what she wanted him to understand. And beyond that she was only here to protect what she held dear: a future self unburdened by blame, and a daughter whose skies were clear and bright, unclouded by grief.

‘We were so close.’ He talked to the polished concrete floor.

‘I know we were. Now,’ she said briskly, all practicality. ‘You need to take your rubbish out. And you should call your mum. She’s worried about you.’

‘Can you please stop talking to me like that?’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you’re a social worker or something. Like we’ve never met.’

Becky handed him a mug of coffee. ‘What do you want, Adam?’

‘I want to go back. I want to find you the next day at school and tell you that last night was the best night of my life and that I love you and that I’m desperately hoping you feel the same way.’

‘I want to go back and never go to that party. But here we are. And we have a daughter who needs both of us.’

He couldn’t meet her eye. ‘I’m begging you to believe me.’

‘That’s not how it works.’

‘Then I don’t know what to do.’

‘Ask me how you can make it up to me.’

And then he did look up at her. ‘How can I?’

‘Have a shower. Get dressed. Make pancakes with Maisie again.’ She felt each item on her list land like a blow. ‘She loves you. She respects you. Be there because she needs you.’