Anyway, she thought, going into the kitchen to put the kettle on, it had been nothing. A cup of tea would see her right. There had been a gap of three weeks—that said it all, really. What kind of man would wait three weeks? And after all, she thought, pouring the boiling water into the mug, he had been so calm, had thanked her politely and told her she’d done the right thing. If the rest of it had been because of Fiona, it would have happened immediately, not three weeks later. She had done what she believed was right, she reminded herself. She had tried to act in everyone’s best interests. Children needed stability. And John had deserved to know what Katrina was planning. A man had a right to his wife. A man had a right to his children.

Fiona caught her reflection in the silver kettle. Her face was puffy and red, and she turned quickly away. It wasn’t as though there was anyone around to notice, but all the same, she didn’t like seeing herself so ugly.

5

Difficult to say which of them was more embarrassed by Tommy’s crying. Malcolm had sat rigidly where he was for a few moments while Tommy wept, before getting awkwardly to his feet and going to stand beside him.

“There now,” he said, tentatively touching his shoulder. “It’s all right.” Emboldened when Tommy didn’t shake him off, he left his hand where it was and said again, “It’s all right.”

Tommy soon wiped his face and tried to get his breath under control. “Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be.”

“My dad was always furious if me or Nicky cried,” Tommy said after a while.

“Mine was the same.” The old bastard, he thought. He went back to his seat and waited to see if Tommy would say anything else.

Tommy rubbed his eyes and breathed out slowly. He said, “It’s been a rough few days.”

“I know.”

Tommy wiped his hand over his face again. He said, “I’ve been meaning to say I’m sorry.” He didn’t look at Malcolm. “I shouldn’t have kept away all those years.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does. It wasn’t fair on you and Heather.”

“Fairness doesn’t come into it.”

Tommy shook his head. Eventually, he said, “I’m not sure what to do.”

Malcolm knew the feeling. “Don’t do anything,” he said. “Just get some rest. Shall we cook something later? We could make a pie.” We could make a pie? What was wrong with him?

But Tommy didn’t seem to think it was a stupid suggestion. He nodded slowly. “O.K.”