He knows she’d want to hear about the session, she always does. She had wanted to see the children’s work for herself and though she won’t ever admit this to Martin, she’d wanted that friendship with Eve. She’d met her before Martin did, but she can’t say that either, it would sound so childish. Back in the winter, when she was first considering whether to put Blake’s name down for the sessions, she went to Eve’s house to meet her. Eve had flung open her door and taken Grace’s hand in both of hers, her great ring flashing red in the frosty December sun. She’d seemed larger than life somehow, more colourful, more friendly than most people Grace had met in England. ‘Hi, I’m Eve Kershaw,’ she’d said, smiling a warm smile. ‘I’m thrilled you got in touch. I’m certain I can help your son.’ She’d brought Grace into her brightly lit kitchen. She’d been brimming with hope and ideas; the hope was infectious. Grace had handed over the cash for a term’s worth of sessions there and then.

‘We’ll chat after each lesson,’ Eve had promised. ‘I’ll fill you in as we go.’

But then the sessions turned out to be on Sundays to fit with the children’s commitments. Sundays were workdays for Grace, extra-long because of double time. That first visit was her only one; Martin takes the children instead and collects them too.

Grace pays for the groceries at the till and they wheel the bags to the car.

‘Blake’s doing fine,’ he tells her as they fill the boot with shopping. ‘Just fine.’

‘You always say that; you said that about the knife in his trainers—’

‘And it was fine. A friend had lent it to him as I told you; he wasn’t going to use it. I believed him, I thought you did.’

‘I just wish I shared more of his life, Charley’s too, rather than a few minutes at the beginning and end of the day.’ She dumps a box of washing powder in the boot. ‘I feel excluded somehow.’

He hefts in the potatoes, slams the boot and gives her a bear hug. ‘Why not do a few of the school pickups? Melly and Eve share some already; you’d feel more included then.’

‘I thought of that, but I wouldn’t have time to get round all those schools,’ she replies, getting into the car.

‘They’ll be at the same ones soon.’ Martin sounds surprised that she doesn’t know, but that’s exactly the point; she’s never there to know. ‘When Blake starts at the Charter next term, he’ll be with Poppy and Izzy; Charley’s already with Sorrel at Dulwich Hamlet.’