‘James’s driver collected them. James’s assistant left a message with Dad this morning.’ But she sounded unsure now. ‘Derek? She did, didn’t she?’

‘James!’ I was screaming his name, ‘James, come here now.’

I dropped the receiver as my husband ran into the room. ‘Rose?’ I could hear my mother’s frantic voice, tinny, suspended in thin air as the phone dangled, futile on its lead. ‘Rose, what’s wrong?’

‘What?’ James was staring at me.

‘Who did you send to pick up the kids? Tell me you sent someone?’ I grabbed his top. ‘Who did you send?’

‘What?’ His face was very pale. ‘Rose, calm down. I don’t know what you mean. I didn’t even know where they were.’

‘You did know,’ I was shrieking like a banshee, shaking him fruitlessly. ‘You knew they were at my mum’s. Who did you tell? Who’s got my kids?’

He picked up the receiver that was still twirling as uselessly as the fly.

‘Lynn, it’s James. Can you explain what’s going on? Where are the children?’

This then, this was my punishment. I could not possibly hope for a life outside motherhood – but I had – and so this was my comeuppance.

I ran to the sink and retched violently.

* * *