He makes a weak effort to push me away. ‘Mummy, I can do it myself!’ – but he’s too sleepy to fight me, or maybe he’s just learned that it makes it worse to fight. Either way, he stands by as I take charge of everything, and I’m so quick that we are up and out of the house faster than we have ever been.

The fresh air is good for me, sharp against my cheeks. There’s a normality in the familiar walk, the familiar scene, and we arrive at school early, making up for the recent times I’ve been late. I promise myself that, soon, I’ll speak to Ms Simmons.

But right now, there outside the school gates, someone is waiting for us.

I spot him as soon as I cross the road, holding Charlie’s little hand in mine. Alastair. He has his back to us, but I recognize him even before he turns around.

As he comes towards us, I tighten my grip on Charlie’s hand, feeling as though every cell in me is trembling. But his eyes are still gentle, his face is still kindly. And the other day, I answered all those doubts, didn’t I? Marianne’s suspicions and my own, they each had answers. Everything adds up?

He comes to a stop in front of me. He looks cold, as though he’s been standing out a while. ‘Jennifer, hi. I hope you don’t mind me coming. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong,’ he says. ‘In the park, I know it was awkward, embarrassing … my anxiety, I just – you rushed away so suddenly.’

I can feel Charlie’s hand hot in mine. He is staring up at this man he doesn’t know.

‘But how did you know this was where Charlie went to school?’ I ask.

Alastair steadily holds my gaze. ‘You told me,’ he says. ‘When we were arranging to meet.’

My brain feels slow, gummed up, but he’s right. I remember that now too. So many things that I’m not keeping hold of properly. Obviously I told him, because here he is, standing right in front of us at the school gates.

‘I thought I’d come, even just on the off chance,’ Alastair goes on. ‘I just wanted to know that you’re okay. That we’re okay.’

Charlie is looking back and forth between us. ‘Charlie,’ I say slowly, ‘this is my friend Alastair.’

‘Hello,’ says Charlie.

‘Alastair, this is my son.’

Now that I pay attention properly, I think my trembling is only fatigue. He works in a hospital, I tell myself, he’s good with children. Alastair smiles down at my son, glances back up.

‘You’re all right, then?’ he says to me.