‘Aren’t you surprised to see me?’ he says.

Something about the absurdness of the moment makes me play its opposite.

‘Should I be?’

‘You didn’t answer your phone. I was worried.’

‘All good.’

‘Your father doesn’t think so.’

Ah so.

‘He asked me to come check in on you.’

‘That’s nice.’

‘How was the little fella heading off to school?’

How does he—?

‘I have to go back for him at twelve thirty. Going for a quick shower.’

‘Have you eaten, Sonya? You seem a bit jittery.’

‘How did you get in?’

‘You gave me a key, remember?’

I don’t remember, but try to convince myself I do, even as I know I’d never do such a thing.

He opens the back door and says ‘Shoo’ to the animals.

A chill creeps in. No one moves.

‘They’re not used to being spoken to that way. Please close the door, David. It’s freezing.’

‘Better than stinking.’

A quality of silence that holds within it the beating of wings.

‘You ok, Sonya? Bit pale. Sit down.’

‘When did you speak to my father, David?’

He ignores this, pulls up a chair, pushes me down by the shoulder.

The sound of the flapping intensifies, creating an impression that I’m standing inside a wind tunnel.

‘I think you might be about to have one of your episodes. Here, I made you a cheese sandwich, got you some Tayto, an apple.’

I look down at my plate. The exact same lunch I gave to Tommy. I look at David, try to conjure the whole of him, but only get a blurred outline.

‘Do you want me to pick Tommy up?’ he says, voice even as he sets the tea down in front of me.

‘What? No, no thanks. I have to go back with ID anyway.’

‘ID? Why? What did you do, Sonya? Have you got them worried already?’ He smiles warmly. A shared joke. He closes the door on the animals.

I sip my tea. It’s lovely. Comforting and ordinary.

‘Let’s go together.’

I think of the look in that woman’s eyes. Her judgement, her anxiety. It might not be the worst idea; I may be Ms Moriarty, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a single mother.

‘Eat up,’ he says as he draws up a seat beside me and cuts my sandwich into neat triangles.

‘I don’t like crusts,’ I say, not sure what part I’m playing exactly.

He shakes his head, but then good-humouredly trims the edges of the bread. ‘Now, madam, to your liking?’

I take a bite, chew.

He moves in to kiss me on the cheek. ‘I missed you, Sonya.’

I smile, swallow.

‘Right, time for you to take your shower,’ he says as he clears the half-eaten lunch things.

‘Yes,’ I say, having settled on the role of submissive ‘Wifey’ in an arch, modernist, feminist production.

‘And after, we’ll both go and collect Tommy, ok? Best to make a good impression on your first day.’

‘Probably not a bad idea.’ Knowing as I say this how much Tommy will hate that David is there, and not Herbie and Marmie.