‘Absolutely. Though it must be incredibly hard to be a doctor. The consequences of making a mistake are so serious.’ I wonder, not for the first time, if they could have intervened earlier, got my baby out earlier, if they missed some sign. Although what happened to me wasn’t medical negligence. What happened to me was Zac.

‘Anyway’ – she pushes her coffee cup way – ‘he’s on his way home now. He’ll be able to tell me all about it.’

It is difficult not to jump up and run for the door. I make myself smile. ‘I don’t want to interrupt his homecoming.’

She looks worried, but her face relaxes when she checks her watch. ‘It’s eleven. His flight doesn’t touch down until midday. He’ll have taken a carry-on, and his car’s waiting at the airport, so if everything is on time, he should walk through the door at one.’

I would blow out air with relief in other circumstances. At the same time, my stomach clenches to witness this recitation of his minute-by-minute itinerary, remembering how I used to play it out in my own head.

She seems to want to say something, grapples for the right words. ‘He can get – a bit – upset, when things are unexpected. I mean, when there are guests here and he’s not prepared.’

This could be me, trying as delicately as I could to brief Milly on timings, so she’d be sure to be gone before Zac walked in. Milly always knew exactly what I was doing. Early on, she would call me on it. By the end, she had given up.

There is a long wail from the baby monitor, which sits on top of one of the grey-green kitchen cabinets. The cry echoes, but grows louder each time instead of fading. I sit as if tranquil.

Eliza stands, straightens her tan suede skirt, checks that her thin black sweater is properly tucked in. She is dressed for a casual lunch with the Queen, schooled in the Zac Hunter fashion playbook. ‘Won’t you come up and say hello? Alice would love that.’

‘Okay.’ I calculate that I still have plenty of time to be cleanly away before Zac walks in the door. Despite my vow to stop running, I am not ready to see him yet. Not like this. Not unprepared. And not behind the closed doors of this house, where his wife might be willing to aid and abet anything he does.

Eliza’s court shoes click-clack on the tiles, and I squeak up the stairs behind her, past the ground- and first-floor landings, to the second floor. We pass what appears to be a nanny flat, though empty and unlived in. Then there is Alice’s room.