Hugh and Verity were staying on the outskirts of Bristol. The main house, an Edwardian detached, was owned by Clara McCloud, a pleasant widowed woman in her late seventies. The two annexes where they lived were separate from her house. Clara tended to leave her tenants in peace, which suited the siblings.

It was almost midnight, and Verity had been staring at the ceiling for the last hour, eyes so wide they ached, when there was a knock at the door. ‘Verity?’

She flew from her bed, and flung open the door. ‘Hugh.’ She wanted to take him in her arms, but held back, stepping out of the room, into the night air. ‘Where’s Pippa?’

‘In my bedsit asleep. Can I come in? I need to talk to you. It’s important.’

‘OK, if you must.’

He moved past her into the room, and perched on the edge of her bed, his head in his hands.

The room was small, simple: a single bed that seconded as a sofa, a laminated wardrobe, a chest of drawers. There was a kitchenette, the sink piled high with mugs and plates, a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in.

‘I’m sorry,’ Hugh said without preamble.

‘For what?’ She turned her back on him, picked up a bottle of vodka, and splashed some into a shot glass. ‘Want one?’

‘No.’

She twisted round to face him, took a long gulp, wincing as it burned her throat. ‘What are you sorry for, Hugh?’

He looked down at his hands, entwining his slim fingers until they looked tangled. ‘That I love her. That I love Pippa.’

‘What?’ She slammed her glass down on the worktop. ‘You can’t do, Hugh. It’s lust, that’s all.’

‘I know you don’t like her.’

‘She’s not right for you, Hugh.’

‘All I want is for you be happy for me, Verity.’ His tone had become pleading, imploring her to understand. ‘You know I’ll never push you out. Nobody can ever come between us – you know that.’

Verity’s mind spun. She had to play it cool. She had to. ‘It’s fine, Hugh.’ She made her way over to the bed, and sat down beside him. ‘I only want you to be happy. God knows life has been hard enough. For both of us.’

He looked up at her, his eyes meeting hers. ‘Really?’ Sometimes he was so childlike, it was unbearable. ‘Because the thing is, V, Pippa and I want to get married.’

She stifled her shock. Tensed. ‘Married?’

‘Soon.’

‘Christ.’ She covered her mouth for a moment. ‘Are you sure that’s what you want?’

He nodded. ‘I love her, Verity. She wants kids too.’

Her heart thudded. ‘And what about you?’

‘Yeah … I want to give a child everything we never had. Love, security – things we longed for.’