Evelyn chattered as they left London and headed up the A12, regaling him with stories of her childhood that made him laugh, roll his eyes and look horrified in equal measure.

‘Your family sound like a right bunch of horrors,’ he said.

‘It was always me in bother,’ laughed Evelyn. ‘I was the one that got caught and had to be punished. I think Joan used to snitch on me, but I could never prove it. I knew, though. She always looked so pleased with herself when I got into trouble.’

‘I’m not sure I’m going to like Joan much,’ he said.

As they drew close to the town, however, Evelyn’s chatter slowed until the only words she uttered were the directions to the house. She’d hadn’t been quite sure how she’d feel when they got there – whether there would be nerves, disappointment or even anger, but as the van pulled up in front of the house she had grown up in, the house from which she had fled, Evelyn was surprised to discover that her overwhelming emotional response was sadness. She was delighted to be having this baby, of course she was, and if she hadn’t, what would have been the point of all this disruption? But now that she stood on the doorstep of her former home, she knew being here marked the end of the life she had worked so hard to achieve.

‘Do you want me to come in?’ asked Ted. ‘I can just turn round and head back home if you’d rather.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Evelyn replied. ‘You have kindly driven me all the way here. The least we can do is offer you some lunch. Come on. We’ll unpack later.’

Evelyn still had a front door key – it was her house too, after all – so she slipped it into the lock and turned. The door swung open and immediately the aroma of the place hit her. It didn’t seem to have changed at all. Furniture polish, bleach and coal tar soap – all clean smells, but ones she associated not with a welcoming home but with strict order and regime. The hallway was shadowy because all the doors leading off it were firmly closed to keep the transference of dust to a minimum, just as they had been in her parents’ day. As a child, Evelyn had longed to fling them all open and wander around willy-nilly, sitting on plumped cushions and leaving finger marks on polished wood. She never had, of course, being too worried about the consequences of such impetuous actions. She had once dropped a candlestick on the hearth and broken a tile. She had been forced to stay in her room for a month, coming out only for school and meals. But things would be different for her and her child. She wasn’t going to let Joan treat the baby as she herself had been treated.