‘Don’t worry,’ she says softly now, reaching out to touch his hand. ‘Nothing’s going to happen.’

But he doesn’t look happy. Instead, he appears to be waiting for her to relent, and it is this that makes her resentful. What about all the evenings he’s been absent lately, spending time with Jenna and Matthew? Has Leah once pulled him up about it, made a complaint?

‘It’s not like I’ll be staying with him long,’ she says, quietly insistent. ‘Just checking in on him to make sure he’s okay.’ It seems reasonable to her, but Jake’s unconvinced.

‘I don’t trust him,’ he tells her plainly, and then he gets to his feet and clears away the dishes.

On the second evening, she finds that Anton is out of bed and dressed. He is in the kitchen, two cups and saucers laid out on the table, the kettle on, as if he has been waiting for her.

‘You look a little better,’ she remarks, and it’s true that some colour has returned to his cheeks.

‘I feel it,’ he replies, pouring tea into the cups.

She has told Jake she won’t linger, but when Anton offers her the cup, suggesting they take their tea out to the garden, she thinks: Why not? Jake is not home yet and, besides, she’s not a child, but an independent woman capable of making her own decisions.

‘I’ve been doing some thinking,’ Anton says. ‘With all the work that has been done on the house in recent days, I can’t help feeling I should do some work of my own. Clear some things out.’

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ Leah tells him. ‘A spring clean.’

The evening is balmy. The grass is starting to look scorched. It’s been weeks since there has been rain of any significance. A hosepipe ban has just been announced.

‘I’ve always been a bit of a hoarder,’ Anton goes on, ‘but today I found myself looking around my house, all these things I’ve been holding on to, and wondering why. They’re just things – they have no meaning. And it’s not as if they have any sentimental value. I mean, I’ve spent the past nineteen years inhabiting one room, and I managed. The world didn’t end. It makes me wonder why I didn’t just tackle this when I got out, instead of allowing myself to get holed up in a cave of nostalgia.’

‘Perhaps you weren’t ready.’

‘Perhaps not.’ He sips his tea, and when he returns the cup to the saucer, he glances up at her. ‘Could I ask something of you, dear? I feel bad, as you’ve already done so much. It’s just …’

‘What is it?’ she asks, her attention caught by the flash of alarm that crosses his gaze, the slight tremor in his hand making the cup rattle on the saucer.