Later, he helps her change the sheets and leaves with a book ostentatiously tucked under his arm. She stands at the door to wave him off. Igor has dismantled some headlights and has spread them out on the forecourt by the garage; he looks up and stares at them both. She ignores him and turns back into the kitchen. Now she is on her own, guilt begins to lap at her in small, cold waves. There is a little pile of vomit by Noah’s basket; he’d come to find her like a child then, feeling ill. After she’s cleared up, she makes tea and lets Noah into the garden where he lies down on the grass. She sits on the swing and lifts her face to the sun. It’s still warm, the dry summer has become a dry autumn; her eyes close.

The crunch of wheels on gravel startles her, she drops the cup, tea soaks into the bark chips. Eric’s truck sweeps into the drive; he’s returning earlier than planned. He emerges stretching and walks over to the shed. He hasn’t noticed her on the swing; she watches his easy gait, the swing of his shoulders, the play of the muscles across his side, familiar anatomy. Guilt swells. She usually tells him the truth about everything, the children, of course, and the little things of every day, where she’s been and how she feels, though she hasn’t shared that for a while. She could slip off the swing right now, approach him, confess, but the risk would be too great; he might never forgive her. The punishment would be a deeper, lasting silence. She stares down the garden to the wood, wishing the children were around, running in and out of the trees as they did all summer, distant company.

‘The shed’s been ransacked.’

‘What?’ She blinks up at Eric; she hadn’t noticed him approach. His eyes are narrowed.

‘It looks like Noah pushed the door open; the sack of fertilizer has been chewed. There are granules all over the floor.’

Hence the vomiting. Distracted by Martin, it’s possible she left the back door open after he arrived and the dog escaped.

‘You know he must be kept in the house unless we’re with him; he could get through the hedge to the road, if nothing else.’ He is lecturing her as if it’s her fault and it probably is. ‘Did the kids let him out?’

‘Of course not, they’re at school.’

He comes closer, his shadow cuts the sun. She slips off the swing and steps back. Her skin feels saturated with Martin; she probably smells of him.

‘Why are you looking like that?’ He takes her arm, staring closely at her face.

‘Like what?’

‘Guilty, amused. Was it you?’