But it wasn’t fair. They needed to acclimatise to their new world. I told myself that it was better for them, better that they didn’t actually see me for a while. I never really believed it. But I’d see them. Every day that I could. Better for all of us. All this was ultimately about them for me. But not for you, Jack. It was about you. And because of that I’ve been denied these boots and the pumps and the proud-mummy moments. Worse, so have they.

Chapter Nineteen

I wait another ten minutes – studies show that’s the average time for someone to fall asleep when woken in the night. Then I open the door very carefully and stand in the hallway again. I listen but hear nothing. As I walk towards the front door without the holdall I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I wonder if I should have left the laptop too. No. That would be too risky. I’m already worried that the journal will reveal my DNA.

But why wouldn’t it? I was your wife. I would have been near that bag, touched your stuff. I wore surgical gloves when I took it apart so I’m not worried about fingerprints but a stray hair? Then another more urgent thought invades. My children are asleep upstairs.

My overtired, frazzled brain protests but my heart wins as I turn to go upstairs. I know where the creaks are and I avoid them. My feet make a familiar pattern on the soft carpet and I’m strangely calmed. I pad up the landing, knowing that if your mother wakes and comes out of her room it’s game over. I head for what used to be our room and turn the doorknob.

It’s like turning back time and looking at myself lying in my bed. Laura is bigger than last time I saw her this close up. She’s no longer a tiny child. She’s changed so much in a year. Her blonde hair is long and spreads across the pillow. I step closer and she moves, so I freeze. My God. I feel a warmth in my soul, one that I haven’t felt for so long. She’s moving more now and I back out of the room.

I sneak across the landing to your old room. There’s a red ‘Keep Out’ sign and I realise that Charlie is almost ready for secondary school. I missed it all. I missed this important transition. I push the door open and there he is, in a bedroom full of football posters. There’s a computer in the corner and a pile of school books. I feel full of pride. My son’s at school working hard.