If I’d passed her in the street, I probably wouldn’t even have noticed her.

Unless she had been with Daisy. It had to be said – Daisy stood out. It wasn’t just the all-pink outfit. It was the way they held hands, as if they still did that all the time, without even thinking about it.

I hadn’t held Ellie’s hand for years and years. Let alone Ava’s. I’d forgotten what it felt like to do that. To lead your child by the hand.

It wasn’t Daisy’s fault. She had obviously just gone along with whatever her mother had told her to get her there.

Maybe Paula had been waiting for this moment for years… the chance to wreck something for us. Well, she’d certainly succeeded.

I said, ‘The only person who’s done something wrong is Paula.’

Mark closed his eyes and I thought for a moment that was it, that he’d gone. I’d never seen anything like the way he looked then. So close to death. So agonised, and so hopeless.

Then he rallied and opened his eyes again and said, ‘I lied to you. It wasn’t Paula who stopped me seeing Daisy. It was me. I didn’t want to. I couldn’t cope. I said she could have the house as long as they both left me alone.’

‘Mark, it was years ago. Whatever happened, Paula had no right to do what she just did. It was an awful shock for you. We just have to concentrate on getting you better.’

‘Jenny… She didn’t go off with someone else. I lied about that too. I told you that, and I told my mother that. But it wasn’t true. She liked him. But she never cheated on me.’

I wanted to say something reassuring… but I couldn’t find the words. All that time I’d believed that Paula had treated him terribly, that she’d betrayed him, that she was an awful person…

And Mark had just let me carry on thinking the worst of her.

The girl – Daisy – had looked shocked when Mark collapsed, as if witnessing the breaking of a taboo. As if she didn’t fully understand what was happening, but had at least recognised that it was unusual for a man to writhe around on the floor like that.

I had yelled at Paula to go and take her daughter with her.

And then they had gone.

He said, ‘She wrote to you. After Felix died. A condolence card. I made sure you never got it. She sent one to my mother, too.’

And then he closed his eyes and moaned in pain.

The ambulance began to climb. We’d reached the hill north of Kettlebridge; any minute now we’d descend, and merge onto the fast road to Oxford.

I leaned forwards and said, ‘Did Ingrid get her card?’

He could barely part his lips to speak, but I just about made out the words: ‘Burned it.’

‘Don’t leave me,’ I told him. ‘I need you to survive. Otherwise how can I be angry with you?’