In the light from the open window her face was obscured, but I could feel her weariness, a sudden sapping of her strength. I propped myself up on an elbow.

‘Mum? Go to bed. I’m all right now, really; perfectly all right. It’s probably my hormones.’

She smiled. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Quite sure. I’m sorry I asked that stupid question. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I know…’ She got out of the chair and came to the bed. ‘You need to get home to Jack, darling; back to your life…’ She took a deep breath. ‘You must look forward, not turn constantly back to the past…to a terrible thing neither of us can change, Nik. I suddenly believe it’s wrong to think about that afternoon, to try to write anything more down. Leave it. Try now to think only about pleasant things. You, Jack and the baby…’

I smiled. It was such a Fleur statement. How can you possibly dictate what your mind throws up? This is the terror of memory; the tiny slits that open to reveal slithers: clear, sharp shards that make you bleed. We both knew this.

She bent to kiss me. ‘Good night, Nik. Shout if you need me. Promise?’

I reached out for her hand and held it for a moment. ‘Good night, Mum.’

When she had gone I turned on my side and watched the sky for a long time. I did not fight sleep. I just lay waiting for Saffie. I knew she was near. I knew she would come.

I pulled down the mosquito net. I did not close the shutters. I liked the sky and the faint scent of sea and herbs on the wind. I moved the pillows to help my aching neck and turned the other way as I felt my child kicking again. I wondered how many of our feelings – love and anxiety – are transferred to the child in our womb.

I slept and when I woke it was the dead of night. The moon had gone, the stars were hidden by cloud and the night was very still. I lifted the mosquito net to go to the loo and then, thirsty, I moved out into the main room to the fridge in the corner. The water was blissfully cool. I poured another glass and took it back to bed. I slept immediately.

When I woke it was no longer night but a hot afternoon. I could tell because the heat hovered heavily outside the shuttered room.

We were both in Fleur’s bed. Saffie was sitting up on the other side of Mum, fiddling with her hair. She was awake and bored. She had a small paper flower and she bent to tickle Mum with it, wanting her to wake up.

‘Don’t,’ I said sleepily. ‘Mum doesn’t like to be woken up.’

‘Let’s go out,’ Saffie said. ‘Come on, let’s go out and play on the beach.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Go back to sleep, Saffie, you’ll make Mummy cross.’ I turned over, away from her.