Her hair is loose, and almost to her shoulders. She is radiant, in a white dress printed with ink-blue roses. There is a faint bloom in her cheeks. The bruises are gone.

I say hello to Zac, but my smile is for her, so wide it makes my face ache. ‘Happy birthday, Alice!’

She starts to hum the birthday song, and I sing along, which puts her in fits of giggles. When we are finished, she comes closer to me, shyly putting out her hand to touch the bulky orthopaedic boot that goes from below my knee to the tips of my toes.

‘This,’ she says, opening her mouth wide. ‘Ouch.’

When the surgeon first sewed the two pieces of my ruptured Achilles Tendon into one, I had to keep my foot entirely off the ground. Now, I am allowed to put a little weight on it, with some of the burden taken by the crutches. I demonstrate this for Alice’s benefit. ‘It doesn’t hurt. See?’ I move her attention away from the subject. ‘Let’s go have fun. Would you like to draw a picture for me later?’

‘Yes! Yes, yes.’ She clasps a handful of my dress in her small fist. The fabric is black, and covered in tiny flowers of vibrant green. ‘Pretty. Pretty, pretty.’

‘Thank you! Thank you, Thank you.’ This makes her laugh. I look ahead of us, along the path that curls through the park. ‘Shall we find the swings?’

She nods slowly and decisively, her eyes huge and startling as she looks at me. She toddles along in the sunshine, still holding onto my dress as if it were my hand. Then she chooses a bench inside the children’s play area, in the half-shade of an apple tree whose pinky-white blossom scents the air. She carefully props my crutches before running to the swings, chased by Zac. He lifts her on and pushes while she wiggles her legs in a charmingly inept attempt at pumping.

I elevate my leg onto the bench to stop it from swelling. As Zac plays a counting game with Alice, I think of Jane. Alice marked her in every way. Even Jane’s body was changed by her. Maxine let me see the forensic pathologist’s report. The examination of Jane’s pelvis showed she had given birth.

Zac soon settles Alice close by, in the sand pit. He approaches the bench, but pauses a metre away. ‘May I?’

The orthopaedic boot will be a kind of wall between us. ‘Of course.’

He lowers himself at the opposite end. Together, we watch Alice with her bucket and spade and moulds. She is shaping mermaids and seahorses and starfish. She is entirely absorbed, despite the fact that her figurines keep disintegrating.

‘She looks so much better,’ I say.

‘She’s had several sessions of intravenous iron therapy – like you did, after . . .’ He trails off. ‘It seems to be working.’

‘I’m glad.’