The hours spooled past with no sign of the man. Maggie was beginning to think he really wasn’t coming when, Max lying in her arms, she heard the scraping noise. Max was talking to himself; he did it more and more these days, disappearing into a world of his own making. He had nowhere else to go. Other kids might have run to their bedroom, or watched a TV show or played make-believe with a friend. Max had only the inside of his own head.

The door opened. The man stepped inside and closed it behind him. He was holding a tray.

So they would eat – or at least Max would, she wasn’t hungry – after all.

There was a bowl and a plate, both covered in foil, and a plastic jug of water.

He set the tray down on the floor.

Before she could stop him, Max jumped off her lap and toddled over to the man. He had never done it before. Ever since he was a baby, Maggie had held him on her lap when the man came. She hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t told him to be wary of the man, but she hadn’t needed to. It was easy enough for him to pick up on his mother’s uneasiness.

When Max was awake the man rarely stayed longer than it took to drop off some food and pick up the plates from the day before, and he more or less ignored him. It was only at night, when Max was asleep, that the man stayed longer.

‘Hello,’ Max said. ‘Is this food?’

The man looked at him, a half-smile on his face.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’

‘I’m hungry,’ Max said. Of course he was. He’d had no breakfast. He bent over and pointed to the bowl. ‘Is that for me?’

Again, the man smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s for you.’

Maggie watched, tensed on the edge of the bed. This was new. Part of her wanted to snatch Max up, keep him away from any contact with the man.

Part of her wanted it to carry on. He would, she was sure, fall in love with Max given the chance. He was, after all, his father, and there had to be some paternal instinct in there, somewhere. Moreover, there was the change in the man she’d noticed recently, the change that had led her to ask him to let them go.

The change that had led him to smile – half-smile – at Max.

And if he could do that, then … then …

She held the thought. She couldn’t bear the hope.

Max gripped a corner of the foil and pulled it up.

‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Sausages.’ He pulled the rest of the foil off and pointed at some broccoli. He looked at the man sternly. ‘I don’t like that though.’