In her mind, Claire runs an inventory of the state of the housekeeping. There’s laundry in various conditions in the kitchen and utility – waiting for washing, waiting for drying, waiting for ironing, waiting to be put away – and even though it would be dinner-time in a normally functioning household, she’s yet to tackle the dishes left over from breakfast. The carpets need vacuuming, the bathrooms need cleaning and the kitchen floor needs a mop. Without thinking about it in any detail, there’s enough to keep her going an entire weekend.

She takes up a position which blocks the door, stopping Annabelle from seeing into the hallway.

‘What is it you want?’ she asks.

‘Just a little chat, really,’ says Annabelle. She lays her head on one side, another charming gesture which might work on some men. ‘We think our readers would be really interested in your story, in the feel-good aspects of it. You know, your son back home with you, how you feel about that, how it is to be a family again.’

Entirely of their own accord, Claire’s eyebrows lift.

‘Are you serious?’ she asks.

Annabelle misses the incredulity in her tone.

‘Readers would love to hear how it’s been,’ she says. ‘There’d be a fee of some kind, of course.’

Claire reflects on how it’s been: her silent son, her absent husband, the sense of everything still as irreparably broken as it ever was.

She produces her own version of Annabelle’s insincere smile.

‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she says, ‘but why don’t you just fuck off?’

Late afternoon, and the motorways have been left far behind. They’re passing through open country glorious with summer, where sheep are grazing amongst the upland bracken, and rivers sparkle in valleys where wildflowers colour their banks.

This tranquil beauty is balm for the soul, and Matt realises he’s missed it. Evan seems to be enjoying the scenery. Maybe he’s missed it, too.

At the turn for Ainsclough Top, the stream where Evan used to fish runs under a bridge. Matt slows the car, allowing Evan a view of the clear water where wild cresses flourish.

‘I expect you could find time to come down here with your net while we’re here, see what you can catch.’

Immediately Matt regrets saying it, thinking Evan’s far too old now for such childish things. Evan’s solemn face doesn’t move, but as they turn up the track towards the farm, he looks back over his shoulder, and his eyes, it seems to Matt, are on the stream.

Jack’s waiting, smiling, at the door. As they get out of the car, Matt looks for signs of worry in his face, but there’s nothing to see. Evan walks straight up to his grandpa, gives him the briefest of hugs and goes inside the house.

‘How’s Mum?’ asks Matt, and Jack shrugs.