“I know you’re having a tough time,” he said, “but the only reason I keep on at you to go out is because it will make things easier for you, in the long run. You need to get back to normal. Stop hiding inside—it’s not healthy for you, or for the boys.”

“The food delivery is due tomorrow afternoon. I must have ordered badly last time, we don’t usually run out so soon. I’ve made sure there’s enough to see us through.”

“It’s not the shopping; that’s not the point. You need to get yourself out of the house. What are you doing all day, anyway?”

Morgan, as if to demonstrate, opened his mouth and began to cry. Such a sad, mournful sound, almost enough to make everyone around him cry as well, in empathy. I hurt, Mummy, I’m frightened, help me.

That’s your fault, Patrick, thought Lauren. It was the harsh, unfamiliar deep voice, and the tense atmosphere. She held her arms out to take him from his father.

Patrick passed the baby to her. He must have noticed that Lauren’s eyes were red, her face wet with tears.

“You’re upset again,” he said, matter-of-fact.

She nodded, sniffed. He passed a tissue from the box. She wiped the baby’s face, and then her own.

“You really need to go outside,” said Patrick.

I need to stay here, thought Lauren, where we are safe.

“When was the last time you went out?”

“I don’t know.”

She did know. She hadn’t left the house since she was pregnant. She’d told him once or twice that she’d been out for a walk while he was at work, but she’d been lying. She hadn’t dared put the boys in the car yet. Pregnant Lauren had forced herself to watch an online video of a crash-test baby dummy being slammed against a windscreen in slow-motion and the image would not leave her.

“You used to walk, every day,” said Patrick, apparently struggling not to sound accusatory, failing. “You said it kept you sane.”