Hawkins checked herself in the bathroom cabinet mirror, pinching at a clump of hastily applied mascara. Her off-day wear, a jade turtleneck and tight jeans, would raise eyebrows among colleagues used to more formal attire, but there wasn’t time to change.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes then rattled downstairs, collecting coat and bag on the way to the car, and stopped beside Mike’s door, tapping on the thick glass.

He glanced up from his phone, apparent confusion turning quickly to insight as he lowered the window, fixing her with fractious, dark brown eyes. ‘Don’t tell me, something came up.’

She held out her phone for him to verify the message, and watched him read, thinking about the last time they had genuinely enjoyed each other’s company without the pressure of an argument threatening to overwhelm the proverbial flood defences.

It had been a Sunday the previous month, the occasion filed away in her memory as if her subconscious had somehow known it was a turning point. Her sister Siobhan had dropped Antonia’s niece and nephew off for the day, while she covered an emergency shift for a colleague. Hawkins had refereed the making of fairy cakes for the kids’ pending school Christmas party, before Mike entertained them by letting them help with his weekly head-shaving routine. Then they had played ball games in the garden, making the most of a surprisingly temperate November, and all fallen asleep watching Disney films, to be woken by the doorbell when Siobhan returned to retrieve her offspring. Hawkins had lifted her head off Mike’s shoulder and gone to let her sister in, not noticing until they returned to the front room that Kyle wasn’t there. He was subsequently traced to the bathroom, just as the battery on Mike’s electric razor ran out, leaving the semi-bald youngster looking a lot less like his favourite adopted uncle than he’d intended. Alone once more, Hawkins and Mike had spent a dispute-free evening at home, laughing together; actually talking.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

The corner of Mike’s mouth twitched as he handed the phone back.

She took it. ‘We’ll go next weekend. I promise.’

‘Sure we will.’

‘You know I can’t ignore this.’

‘I get it.’ He half turned away. ‘You’re devastated.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Hey, my boss didn’t want me to take today off in the first place, so he’ll be happy to see me. And it saves us both a day’s vacation time, right?’ The window started coming up. ‘See you tonight.’

‘Don’t be like tha—’ Hawkins began as the Range Rover roared away from the kerb. She watched it round the bend and disappear.

She stood for a moment, wondering if a text now, later, or at all would have any impact on the inevitable argument about conflicting priorities.

Probably not.