‘Hi.’ The questioning rise at the end – someone Len didn’t know.

‘You must be Lennie,’ he said. ‘You’ve grown a bit since I last saw you. Is your mum around?’

‘Er – yeah. Come in.’

A couple of seconds later, they appeared in the archway, Len wide-eyed, behind her Samir. It was half past eight but he was in work gear, dark trousers and a pale blue shirt under a grey three-quarter-length coat. She met his eye with the same jolt of familiarity.

Dennis stood and dropped his napkin onto the table.

‘Mr Lyons.’ Samir stepped forward a little. ‘Sorry to intrude, especially while you’re eating. I didn’t mean to disturb your dinner.’ He held out his hand.

Robin watched as her dad looked at it, pausing just long enough to be sure Samir noticed. In that second she felt a burst of love for Dennis that brought her almost to tears. That was for her. Her dad had always liked Samir – so much, in fact, that she’d had to persuade herself back then that it wasn’t a disqualifier – but the pause, the momentary question of whether he would take the hand or not, was his way of telling him, I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgiven the way you treated my daughter.

Samir dipped his head slightly, as if he were acknowledging this, then turned to her mother. ‘Mrs Lyons.’

‘Samir. How are you?’

‘Well, thank you.’ He looked back at Robin. ‘I wondered if I could talk to you for a couple of minutes?’

Dennis, Christine and Lennie were all looking at her: what was going on? She thought of how they’d perched on the stools next door to listen in on Patel and Thomas, how Dennis had almost certainly taken her place when she’d swapped in. The chance of having a private conversation anywhere in the house was nil. Even if you weren’t actively listening, you couldn’t help hearing. She still needed therapy for the first time their parents went away for a weekend and Luke had Natalie over.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ she said to him. ‘I need to stretch my legs anyway.’

She got her coat off the peg, hyperconscious of him behind her. She wondered if he felt them as well, the echoes of all the other times they’d stood exactly here while she put her coat on, his car waiting outside, already warm from the drive over to pick her up. She sensed him on the back of her neck, as if he were bringing up the small hairs there. She took her keys from the dish on the side-table. ‘Come on then.’

The temperature drop was startling, the evening air so cold after the incubator that she felt it crackle in her chest. Living at Dunnington Road might actually kill poor Pam Travis, the school secretary, she thought, all these radical climate changes.