‘He’ll come round, lass. Just give him a bit of slack and he’ll come round. The bairn’ll win him over if nowt else, she’s that bonny, so don’t fret. Have patience.’

But Adam wasn’t coming round. Olive cast a sidelong glance at the man she’d come to hate and fear. She knew now he would never come round. And while she accepted that Adam’s loathing and resentment regarding her was justified to some extent, she couldn’t forgive his treatment of their daughter. Alice was completely innocent of any wrongdoing, she’d said that to him once in one of their rows, and he’d answered her by saying that the child was here, wasn’t she? And her presence was fault enough. It had been from that day she’d stopped trying to make their marriage work.

It wasn’t until his plate was empty and Adam got up from the table that he spoke. He always left the house after the evening meal, winter or summer and even in the worst weather, returning at bedtime. It was one of the many unspoken ways he made it clear he’d rather be anywhere than with her and Alice. It was unusual for him to speak, however, and in her surprise Olive looked at him, something she avoided if she could help it.

‘I hear you’ve been talking to my mam behind my back.’

‘What?’ She stared at him, utterly taken aback.

‘You heard what I said. Been round there, have you, crying on her shoulder?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re on about and the last time I saw your mam was when she called in a couple of days ago. I haven’t been to theirs since we went on Christmas Day.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Still doesn’t change the fact you’ve been whining to her about me.’

The sense of injustice at what she was being accused of kept her voice from shaking even though she could see he was spoiling for a fight. ‘I have never discussed you with your mam. She pops in now and again to see Alice and have a cup of tea, that’s all. She’s Alice’s grandma, for goodness’ sake.’

He glared at her, dark anger glinting from his eyes under their narrowed lids. ‘Don’t give me that, I know how you work. Cunning as the Devil himself, you are, putting on an act of the poor misunderstood wife and trying to get sympathy. Well, I tell you now, I don’t want my mam round here while I’m at work. I don’t want no one here, is that understood? So you tell her next time she “pops” in she’s not welcome.’