With a bang I shut the door, bending double in the hallway as if I had just been winded with a gut-punch. In the thick rug I caught the glint of green glass.

‘What did he want?’ James said, a shadow in the kitchen doorway. I didn’t know how long my husband had been there; I blinked down the tears that smarted, and reached down for the green thing that had glinted. A plastic jewel from a toy crown.

‘I wish I knew, James.’ Still clutching the jewel, I looked at my husband’s ashen face. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning the snow had come, sealing us off into an impenetrable white world. I sat at the kitchen table and drank tea, looking at the soft branches bowed down with their new weight, listening to my children’s incessant chatter.

‘It’s not, Mum, is it?’

‘It is.’ Freddie’s bottom lip trembled and I gathered him up onto my lap. ‘It is Harry-potomus, isn’t it, Mummy?’

‘Durrr,’ Alicia scoffed, waving a book in his face. ‘It’s Harry Potter, you idiot.’

‘Alicia,’ I reproved mildly, ‘don’t be horrid. He’s only three.’

A doleful James sloped into the room and smiled pathetically at me. Almost worse than angry or sullen James was contrite James.

‘Stop it,’ I snapped. ‘You look ridiculous. You’re far too old for puppy-dog eyes.’

‘You used to like them.’ He put his hand on my shoulder. I forced myself not to shrug it off. ‘More tea, vicar?’

Silently I pushed my cup towards him as Fred jumped off my knee. I had the sudden inclination to fall in a heap on the floor, a suppurating, slowly dissolving mass of wet tissue and no hope. A heap of despair. But I didn’t. I couldn’t allow myself to. I pulled a silly face at Effie instead.

Last night James and I had argued until I’d finally given in to exhaustion. Hair on end and Jack Daniel’s in hand, James had sworn that if he had asked Liam to collect the kids, he had totally forgotten. He had drunk too much on the plane coming back, he said, celebrating the deal, and he had to admit there were a few lost hours at Singapore airport. Perhaps he’d spoken to Liam then, perhaps he’d told Marsha who ran the office at Revolver, to call. He was very sorry, he said, so so sorry. He’d make sure it never happened again. He would make it up to me. How about that spa break he had promised me?