She is a broken bird, Anton thinks, as he turns now on to Wyndham Park. A bird fallen from the nest, and he has picked her up and taken her into his home. Gently, he will wait on her, slowly nursing her back to health. But a bird like that won’t ever return to the wild from which she came. Those injured creatures we take into our homes grow dependent, he thinks, putting his key into the lock, their natures changed by the very fact of our nurturing, our care, so that they become tied to us. Without us, and he pushes the door open, they cannot survive.

He closes the door behind him, pauses to listen, to judge the air. Silence fills the hall. Since she has become ensconced in the room upstairs, the atmosphere in the house has changed, grown peaceful. For the first time in months, he cannot hear Charlotte’s voice. He resolves to go upstairs and check on her, but first he will put together a tray with his purchases from the market. A smorgasbord to tempt and delight her. He has a half-bottle of Viognier cooling in the fridge and thinks about persuading her outside into the garden. Anton carries his shopping into the kitchen and stops dead.

‘Hi, Dad.’

Mark looks up from where he is sitting, and Anton feels a sharp announcement of nerves, like acid rising from his stomach. This is quickly followed by a rush of concern. ‘What happened to you?’ he asks, putting the cloth bag on the counter and coming closer, the better to see his son’s face.

There’s a crust of blood around Mark’s nostrils, a bulbous look to his nose and cheek. A bruise blooms over his left eye, the lid puffy and swollen. And, from the way he is sitting in the chair, a hangdog look about him, a guilty air.

‘You should see the other guy,’ he says, with a feeble laugh that quickly falls away.

‘You’ll need ice on that,’ Anton tells him, then opens the freezer and takes out a bag of frozen peas, wraps it in a tea-towel. ‘How long have you been here?’ he asks, keeping his voice light. His mind is upstairs in the bedroom with Leah, wondering whether she is awake and listening. How will he explain her presence if Mark finds out?

‘I got here a few minutes ago. You don’t mind me letting myself in, do you?’

‘Of course not. This is your home too.’ Words said without much conviction, for in truth he is irritated by Mark’s intrusion. Anxiety flickers within him. What if she comes downstairs? What then?

Mark watches impassively, accepting the bag of peas and placing it against the side of his face.

‘Who did this to you, son?’

‘Jason.’

A quick calculation in Anton’s head – Jason is Mark’s flatmate.

‘Why on earth –’