‘That was his one and only time trying cotton candy,’ she says tightly. ‘And I wasn’t there to see it. And that red car was his pride and joy, right up until he died. He wouldn’t go to bed without it being on the pillow beside him. But Nick was the one who was with him when he chose it and Nick was the only one who got to give him cotton candy.’

‘Do you resent him for being there at moments in Ben’s life when you weren’t?’

‘It should have been me,’ she cries. ‘I should have been there with him, sharing every single second with him, sharing his joy and excitement as he experienced new things . . .’

‘Perhaps that’s how Nick feels too?’ I chance. ‘Maybe he’s holding in his own bitterness at what he missed out on whilst Ben was with you. Could you not share those experiences? Open yourselves up and embrace the memories rather than tally up who was there at the time and use it against each other.’

‘It’s too late for that now,’ she says. ‘We’ve gone past that point. We’re slowly destroying each other. The only thing keeping me there is the children.’

I immediately think of the misery Jacob endured for fear that it would destroy his relationship with his children. But sometimes the damage caused by staying is far greater.

‘It might not always be best for the children,’ I moot. ‘To stay in a toxic relationship.’

‘Where else would I go?’ she asks, looking at me, wide-eyed.

‘I can help you find a place to stay, somewhere you and the children will feel safe.’

‘Like a hostel, you mean?’

I nod.

She looks at me sceptically. ‘I can’t go to one of those women’s refuges,’ she says. ‘As much as I hate being with him, I’d rather stay than subject the children to one of those.’

‘They’re not quite the same as they used to be,’ I say in their defence. But my mind is already racing through what else I can offer her. If I had my way, I’d give her sanctuary here. We have two spare bedrooms in the house, one set up as a home office for Leon, and the other where I keep all of Mom’s stuff, having inadvertently turned it into a replica of the room I remember her having when I was a little girl.

There’s a cherrywood bedstead and matching wardrobe where I keep the blouses that Aunt Meryl managed to salvage from my mother’s closet, and her red-starred sneakers that I’d refused to leave the house without. And I’d found a vintage bedspread in a flea market in Ramsgate that reminded me of the floral quilt my sister and I used to sneak under whenever we wanted ‘cuddles with Mom’.