‘Sounds exactly my kind of place.’ His eyes meet hers; his smile deepens.

‘Let’s find your children.’ She gets to her feet, flustered. ‘It’s time I woke my son.’

‘Grace didn’t tell me you had a baby.’

‘He’s almost three, but he seems younger; he hasn’t started speaking yet. I’m worried it could be dyslexia, like his sister Poppy.’ She begins to bite her nails again. ‘I think my husband might have had it as a child; it can run in families; I expect you know that.’ She’s talking too much, drinking in his interest the way you swallow water when you hadn’t realized how thirsty you were.

‘I didn’t say a word till I was five.’ Martin grins. ‘I’ve made up for it since. I wouldn’t worry; he’ll be fine.’

He’s kind, the sort of man who understands. ‘I’ll introduce you.’ She leads him outside, but when they reach the little rest bed under the willow tree, the heaped nest of blankets is empty. Ash has disappeared; his red tractor is lying on its side in the grass.

‘He’ll be down the garden,’ she says breathlessly. ‘He must have gone to find the others. They’ll be together somewhere.’

Martin follows, gazing round as she walks rapidly towards the meadow, passing Igor at work under the bonnet of a large green truck. His dusty-looking head is close to the engine, blue overalls smeared with oil.

‘Did you happen to see which way the children went, Igor? I’ve lost track of Ash.’ Her cheeks burn. Eric was right. She should keep a closer eye on the children; perhaps she should have kept them inside as he’d said.

Igor lifts his head and stares at her then Martin. He frowns and shrugs heavily. She hurries along the path Eric mowed earlier, Martin keeping pace.

‘It’s as though we’re in a fairy tale.’ Martin stares at the donkeys in their field as they pass, and at the pond glittering in the sun. ‘I’ve never seen donkeys in a London garden before; it’s impossible to believe we’re in the middle of a city.’

‘My father bought this place for the garden; he was mad about trees. He taught us to ride on those donkeys.’

‘It must have been fantastic to grow up with so much freedom.’

‘We didn’t; the nanny kept us on a leash.’ It sounds like a joke, though it wasn’t funny. She doesn’t talk about it much, but Martin feels like a friend somehow and she hasn’t many. She lost touch with her old crowd years ago; Eric didn’t like them, he found them phoney. Family is enough for him, family is everything, but she misses her old friends at times.

‘Actually, Eric thinks our kids have too much freedom.’

‘Is it possible to have too much?’