She bends over, shaken by fresh sobbing, and he rips a paper towel from the roll and offers it to her. She blows her nose, keeps her eyes on the table-top, her shoulders slumped forward. A picture of misery.

‘Is that why you left home?’ he asks, and she nods.

‘It’s a small town. Everyone knew. I couldn’t stand people looking at me, talking about it behind my back.’

‘You poor darling,’ he says again. ‘That’s a hell of a thing to happen to anyone.’

He is shocked, but feels the pull of the story too. There’s something in it. Something that can be used.

She starts crying again, presses the balled-up tissue to her nose. Her eyes are rimmed red, a raw look to the skin on her face.

‘Do you know what you need?’ he says. ‘A brandy.’

And he gets out of his chair, but she shakes her head furiously.

‘No, I can’t,’ she tells him. ‘I’m pregnant.’

‘Ah.’ He sits back down. Her admission knocks the wind out of his sails a little. It muddies the waters. He casts his eyes over her body, as if the signs might reveal themselves to him. Then he steadies himself and reaches for her hand once more. ‘That’s lovely news, Leah. I’m delighted for you.’

But she doesn’t look happy. He is somewhat relieved to see that her face is a mask of despair.

‘I don’t deserve it,’ she says quietly, and he makes a tutting sound of mild disapproval.

‘Hush now. None of that.’

‘It’s true. Not after what I did.’

‘You’re a good person.’

‘Am I?’ She meets his eyes, and there’s something cold in the look she gives him. ‘I keep thinking about them, Yvonne and Jim. What they would think if they knew about my pregnancy. They never had any other children, you see.’

He nods, says: ‘Well, I’m sure they wouldn’t hold it against you. Despite how they might have felt then. Time is a great healer. Take it from one who knows, pet.’ He squeezes her hand.

She offers him a sad smile, then draws her hand away, glancing at the clock on the wall. ‘I should go,’ she tells him. ‘Jake will be home soon.’

With the heels of her hands, she presses the last tears from her eyes, then tucks the hair behind her ears. Anton feels the now-familiar flatness of disappointment entering his chest. It’s the same every evening when she leaves him alone, with all the hours of the night stretching ahead of him.

At the door, she stops suddenly. ‘You won’t tell anyone about this, will you?’ she says, urgency in her voice.

‘Of course not. Who would I tell?’

‘Promise me you won’t tell Mark? It’s just he might tell someone else and then it could get back to Jake …’