‘Anyway. Best keep away from him,’ Jake says, distracted by the beeping of his phone.

Leah watches as he reads the screen.

‘Listen, I’ve got to go,’ he tells her. Then, seeing her confusion, he explains: ‘It’s Ian. We’re meeting to discuss things. Remember, I told you?’

‘I thought that was later.’

‘He’s free now,’ Jake says, pocketing his phone and getting to his feet.

‘But what about Matthew?’

‘You’ll be all right with him, won’t you?’

Her heart pounds with fear. She’s never been alone with Matthew before. The thought of being left in charge of Jake’s son – having sole responsibility – shakes her a little. All these years she’s spent safeguarding herself against such a situation, and now here she is, desperately thinking of a way out.

‘I don’t know, Jake. I mean, it’s not as if Matthew and I know each other well. You’re his dad – he’s here to see you, not me.’

He leans forward and kisses her on the mouth, makes it last, and when he draws back he’s giving her the grin she finds impossible to resist. He says softly: ‘Relax. It’ll be fine. Take him home and stick a movie on for him.’

She watches then, as he goes to the boy, bends to speak to him, gives his shoulders a squeeze. Her eyes stay on Matthew, his disappointed slump, the way he keeps his gaze on his father, watching him walk away.

A feeling of dissatisfaction lingers in her mind as they walk home together. Matthew is tired and unhappy now that his father has deserted him. Leah carries the scooter, while the boy trails along behind her. She tries to push down her unease at Jake’s decision to leave her for the evening. Since they have moved in together, she has been struck by the blitheness with which Jake flits in and out of the flat, working to his own timetable, his own social obligations. She doesn’t mind being alone, but wonders what it says about his commitment to her.

Now, as they stand at the traffic lights, she takes Matthew’s hand. In front of her, a woman pushes a pram with a baby in it, another child next to her in the throes of a tantrum. The woman turns her attention to the screaming toddler, bending down to coax him into compliance, but Leah keeps her eyes hawk-like on the woman’s unsteady grasp of the pram’s handle, the loose, distracted manner with which she holds it.

Something happens inside Leah. Waves of panic threaten. Bile rises up to her throat.

‘You’re hurting me!’ Matthew wails, and she realizes she is clutching his hand so hard that her nails are digging into his flesh.