Not going to dignify that with a response.

I whisper, ‘I think he’s nearly asleep.’

He pats the space beside him.

‘That couch is too uncomfortable to sleep on.’

‘No bother. I’ll pull the cushions down on the floor. Can you get me a blanket?’

‘There’s one on the back of the couch,’ I say as I lean over him.

His hand snakes up my thigh and he grabs hold of my flesh, twisting it, pinching. I brush his hand away, but his fingers continue creeping up, trying to find their way in.

‘David, don’t. Tommy’s asleep in the next room.’

‘We’ll be quiet!’

‘I want to check up on him, make sure he’s not fretting.’

All the while his fingers are making their way. I’m dry and it hurts.

‘That’s abnormal, Sonya. You’re crowding him. Do you want a codependent son?’

What’s abnormal here, exactly?

‘Come here, stop talking, and just… come here.’

I lean over him, brushing my mouth against his, wishing he’d remove his fingers.

‘Not feeling it tonight?’

‘I’m a bit stressed, obviously.’

‘This’ll help you de-stress.’

He’s trying to pull me down on top of him; my body won’t let it happen. He drops his hand, looks at me with a hurt-child expression just for a moment before he has time to rearrange his features into a more reasonable, understanding adult face.

‘You go on in to the boy. We have plenty of time.’

He stands up, towering over me, holds me, pours into my ear: ‘Sleep well, baby.’

‘You too,’ is about all I can manage.

I go into the bedroom, whisper ‘Tommy?’, who whispers back ‘Yes?’

‘So lovely to have you back, Tommy, I can’t tell you.’

He hums Sam’s theme tune sleepily.

Herbie sighs. I should let him out to do a pee but don’t want to open the door. He’ll have to wait. I push a chair under the door handle, not knowing exactly why. Dream that night that I can smell skin singeing.

When I wake, the sun’s fingers are creeping in under the blind, and I draw my legs towards each other, then cross them tightly, still lying in the bed. Please be gone, I think, before I notice Tommy’s eyes open and staring, boring into me.

‘Morning, Mr T. How about you catch some of those rays for me?’

He doesn’t move.

Herbie is lying on the floor at the end of the bed, trembling.

‘Hewbie has wet himself,’ Tommy says.

Of course he has, poor thing. Marmie is still curled up on the bed, purring softly, oblivious to her pal’s distress.

‘Ok, now, Herbie, ok, good boy,’ I say as I get out of bed, opening the door a crack to see David’s crumpled form on the cushions on the floor. ‘Come on,’ I whisper. We all creep into the kitchen and close the door quietly behind us. There’s a choking smell of gas. Did I leave the ring on? I open the door to the yard, whooshing the rotten-egg-smelling air out. I fiddle around with the settings on the hob.