The man shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Not really.’

‘It would be good for him to have some new toys,’ she said. ‘And some books. He can read, almost. He knows his letters. He’s a very bright boy.’

The man did not reply.

‘Like his dad,’ Maggie said. ‘I don’t think he gets it from me!’

She happened to think he did get it from her; she had been a straight A student in school, but that wasn’t the point. She sensed that the man was softening and she wanted to make him feel some connection with Max.

The man took a step towards the door.

‘He won’t be getting any toys,’ he said. ‘There’s no point.’

Maggie tensed. ‘What do you mean, “there’s no point”? It’s his birthday.’

‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘His third birthday. I think you know by now what happens when these children’ – he waved in Max’s direction – ‘turn three.’

‘What?’ Maggie said, her throat tight. ‘What happens?’

‘You know.’

She did know. But not why. If she knew why, maybe she could reason with him. Find a way to change his mind.

‘I do,’ Maggie said, the struggle to draw breath making her voice a gasp. ‘But why? Tell me. Why is their third birthday so important?’

The man blinked. ‘They become people at that age,’ he said. ‘And then you become too attached. I didn’t want to take them earlier because you needed some company.’ He smiled, almost proudly, as though he felt he should be praised for having thought of her.

Maggie let out a groan. She couldn’t be more attached, and the fact that the man didn’t see that – couldn’t see it – showed how vain her hope that he would feel some tenderness and love for Max had been.

He thought Max was company, but he was wrong. Max was a child. He was her son. He was so much more than company. He was her flesh and blood, in his face she saw herself and Seb and Leo and her mum and dad and brother.

But the man didn’t understand, and he never would. He was not capable of it.

She held out her hands. ‘Max,’ she said. ‘Come here.’

He looked up at her, a piece of toast in each hand, red jam around his mouth.

‘Mummy,’ he said. ‘This is good.’

4

The man came that night. He stood in the doorway in his blue bathrobe, his shins bare, leather sandals on his feet.

He gestured and she moved Max from the mattress to the floor.

It took a long time. Longer than usual, or maybe it was the disgust she felt for him that made it seem longer.