Within minutes of lying down, Jack was snoring into the back of Maggie’s neck. This deep sleep was something he currently managed to achieve very quickly. For these glorious few days, which Maggie knew would end as soon as he returned to work, Jack had slept soundly. Even the phone suddenly ringing didn’t wake him.

Maggie picked up the phone and Regina instantly started a long, barely comprehensible story about the colour of Princess’s baby-grow. ‘I went to the shop on the ground floor, but they only had white and I wanted yellow. I knew there was a charity shop just two streets away – this was yesterday, did I say that? Anyway, I wanted a different colour, because I wanted a change, something brighter and less clinical, you know? Less “hospital”. And I like yellow. So, yesterday I never opened the bedside cabinet because that’s just full of white babygrows and I wanted yellow. I didn’t open it all day yesterday, you see.’ Maggie didn’t see at all, but she said ‘yes’ and this prompted Regina to explain: ‘I only opened it this morning.’ Regina began to sob.

When Regina has first started babbling incoherently, Maggie had assumed the worst. But now she had no clue what to think. She couldn’t make head nor tail of anything Regina had said so far. All she could do was wait and see if anything eventually made sense.

Regina regained her composure, took a deep breath and carried on. ‘I opened the bedside cabinet to get the little collection tin so I could put it back on the nurses’ station . . . they’ve been collecting for Princess, did you know that? I feel terrible begging, but I opened the cabinet to get the tin out and there it was . . . a carrier bag full of . . . I’ve never even seen one fifty-pound note, never mind this many! There’s a note that says “For Princess”. You should see it, Maggie. You should see what someone’s done for our little girl!’

*

Jack’s week of desk duty was only nine-to-five, designed to ease him back in, so by 5.30 each evening, he was back home with his feet up.

Jack and Maggie sat in old garden chairs on their wonky patio. They were pushed together so that Maggie was close enough to sit curled up with her head on Jack’s shoulder.

The chairs had spent most of their lives on Charlie’s allotment, so had definitely seen better days, Jack swore he could smell Charlie’s aftershave on them, so couldn’t bring himself to throw them away.

Hannah was lying on a blanket by their feet, as Penny finally planted the flowers that would clearly define the edges of Hannah’s outdoor playground. ‘We all need clear boundaries,’ Penny insisted. ‘They make us feel safe. And Hannah will always know that she’s safe here.’