‘I’m coming up to see the family at the weekend,’ he said eventually, sounding as if the words were being pulled from him like teeth.

Connie bit her lip and took a slow breath. His use of the word ‘family’ was carefully chosen to exclude her, she was well aware. He didn’t know that her daughter had purposely arranged for him to be in London … Don’t react, she warned herself, and used a deliberately lighter tone as she replied.

‘We could meet in a café? Or you could come to Tessa’s? She’s not back till Monday, now. It might be a better place to talk.’ Tessa had rung to say she was staying in Scotland another few days. In fact, she sounded to Connie as if she were reluctant to come back at all.

‘OK,’ he said eventually. And Connie let out a breath she seemed to have been holding for a lifetime. Whatever transpired between them, anything was better than stalemate.

Devan looked both strange and endlessly familiar as he stood on the doorstep at Tessa’s house. He was thinner, Connie thought, and seemed older than she remembered, his eyes wary as he greeted her. They didn’t kiss or touch each other in any way, just nodded their hellos. He brushed past her as she held open the door and waited silently in the hall.

‘Give me your coat,’ Connie said, her heart going out to him because he seemed so lost.

She had bought another pie from the deli for lunch, serving it with potatoes and buttered cabbage – Devan loved cabbage – and a good bottle of red wine. The pie was warming, the potatoes boiling, but it would be another fifteen minutes before the meal was ready. Her body was strung tight with nerves – she needed a drink to ease the awkwardness. She waved the Rioja at Devan, her eyebrows raised in question. He nodded his assent and she brought out two glasses, pouring for them both.

‘Let’s sit by the fire,’ she said, taking the armchair and leaving Devan the sofa. ‘That’s Monty, by the way. Just push him over. I’ve been looking after him for Tessa and we’ve become firm friends.’ She heard herself being bright and polite and swallowed any more niceties.

He sat down with a heavy sigh, cradling his glass in one hand, not looking at her as he stroked Monty absentmindedly, nudging him onto the other cushion.

Feeling on the back foot, the one who had sinned and therefore had no agency over the proceedings, Connie waited for her husband to speak. But he just sat there, staring into the fire. ‘Devan?’ she said, already overwrought by the encounter she’d been dreading and dying for in equal measure for three days now. She steadied her breath. ‘I’ve really missed you,’ she said quietly.