She pulls herself up a little more and looks past him. There’s a light on in the hall and, through the open bedroom door, she sees a rucksack and a sports bag, both packed and waiting, a laundry bag bulging with Matthew’s toys. It’s all coming at her too fast. How long has she been asleep? How long has he been here, sneaking around packing up his things while she slept?

‘But where are you going?’

‘My parents’ house.’

‘But …’ She scrabbles to think. The pressure of his hand on her is lessening and then, abruptly, he gets up and goes into the hall.

‘But for how long?’ she asks. She’s out there with him now, pulling her dressing-gown around her, covering the long T-shirt of his she’s wearing.

Jake doesn’t answer. He picks up the bags and heads outside to where the van waits. The ends of her dressing-gown flap about her and she feels the cold around her legs, the sting of it coming up through the soles of her bare feet as she follows him, panic making her blind to the manner of her dress.

‘You are coming back, though,’ she says, as he slams the back door, then climbs into the front seat.

‘Jake? You are coming back?’

He doesn’t look at her, just turns the key in the ignition and pulls the van away, and she’s left there, staring at the red tail-lights travelling up the street until they disappear around the corner.

It’s so quiet now. The windows in the houses opposite are blank. The park is a dense black mass pushing up against the night.

Hurrying back inside the flat, she shuts the door behind her, goes into the kitchen, her movements blind with panic, and as she crosses the floor sudden pain shoots up through her foot. She lifts it and sees a stray piece of Lego embedded in her sole. And as she picks it out, she thinks of Jake hurriedly packing his son’s things, and then she thinks of Matthew chattering to himself as he played, and this somehow gets woven into her memories of Cian. The thought that all of this is behind her now, that happiness has been wrenched from her, causes a howl of anguish to rise through her and escape into the night air. All the pain she has kept suppressed for so long rushes to the surface. Here in her kitchen, she cannot control it any longer. She cries and cries, so loudly that, at first, she doesn’t hear the knocking. The gentle but firm tap-tapping on the glass.

She wipes her eyes and turns, and then she sees him. His face pressed against the glass. And as she steps towards him, it’s not fear she feels but relief. Because she cannot carry the burden alone any more.