He put a finger on her lips. ‘I know. Shall we have some coffee first? Do you want to sit and talk for a while?’

She shook her head. ‘I’d rather go straight to the room, if you don’t mind, Simon.’

‘I understand. We’ll talk after.’ He took her into his arms again and held her tenderly, rocking gently from side to side. ‘I wish things could have been different, Shelly. I know it’s only once every two months, but it’s hard enough for me to handle our meetings. God knows how you’ve managed to accept the situation for so long.’

‘It’s love. Such a wonderful thing, but it also beats us up terribly.’

Simon opened the heavy oak door and Shelly went through, as she had every first Sunday of every other month for the past twenty years. ‘I’ll wait out here,’ Simon said.

Shelly didn’t hear him, her eyes were fixed on the overweight, middle-aged man at the toy table, his face, soft, rounded, and line free. A face that had seldom laughed or cried and had not known the frown of worry for twenty years. Shelly pulled a chair up and sat next to him.

‘Hello, David.’

He cocked his head sideways, but didn’t turn to look at her. He was trying to push a yellow brick into a triangular hole in the lid of a bucket. The brick was square.

‘It’s Shelly, David. I’ve come to tell you about our darling son. We had a baby boy, nineteen years ago. I told you, but you may have forgotten. His name’s David John, like you. He comes from a long line of Davids, you know; though everyone calls him DJ.’

She bit her lip hard, her heart breaking, smashing into tiny pieces, yet she forced a smile. Longing to take his hand, touch his cheek, kiss his ear – yet she knew better. She picked up a triangular brick and placed it in front of him. He stared at it for a moment, then picked it up. After a few attempts, the brick clattered into the bucket, yet he remained emotionless.

‘I’ve been on holiday, David. I went diving, to one of the most magical wrecks in the world. I always go diving, just for you, so I can tell you about it. This dive reminded me of our holiday together, when I was sixteen. I wonder if you remember any of that, at all. If you do . . . any little thing, me . . . your friend, Simon, who is outside right now, how happy we were?’ Once again, she bit on her lip to clamp a threatening sob, then smudged a rogue tear away.