Emboldened in my new role, I set about making bigger changes. I replace two of Nina’s smaller paintings with ones painted by local artists. I don’t change the largest one in the main hall; I don’t mind keeping that particular one as a reminder of Nina. To remind me of what was. In truth, it’s not the only reason. Due to its size, it would be blatantly noticeable to remove it.

I swap several photos so that the bulk of the children’s are ones I took of them when they were small. I indulge in a bit of creative editing, as I like to think of it, so it appears as though I’ve been more involved in their early lives than I was. In them, they are having lots of fun with me, walking, dancing, cycling, creating, baking. I’m a true earth mother. I seem to have more of Felix than Emily, but she’s the only one who notices. I tell her that she’s mistaken.

“You have to remember, sweetie, that Felix is a few years older than you. This means that he will naturally always have more. It’s normal, it can’t be helped.”

She still sulked.

Now that the house is mine, I’m not sure I’m that keen on it anymore. The main living areas are actually quite small; there’s little natural light. Even when the kids play hide-and-seek, it’s not exactly hard to find them. It’s claustrophobic. The house, I realize, is all about the grounds: the fantasy, the illusion of an idyllic childhood haven. The reality, like so many things in life, is completely different. Living within it naturally exposes its flaws. The things I used to find romantic about the property are not.

It dawns on me that perhaps Nina was unhappy, that somehow the house absorbed some of the misery and that Stuart knew but chose to ride it out. I’ve suspected all sorts—an affair, marriage too young, disillusionment—but there’s nothing. If Stuart knows (which I don’t think he does), if Tamsin knows, if Camilla knows, in fact, if anyone knows, they’re not telling me. I’ve lost track of what’s real and what isn’t anymore; what matters and what doesn’t.

Now that I feel so much better and most of the sickness has dissipated—I’m so grateful, I’m one of the lucky ones apparently—I continue to dig. I accept work for a few hours here and there, mainly on family portraits. It’s tricky to get someone to look after Goldie during the day and a spate of negative reviews have appeared on my website. I leave a notice to say that I’m on maternity leave and try to remain confident that by the time I return, everything will have blown over. Photography, after all, is what I do, one of the few things I’m naturally good at.

I decorate the nursery, turning my old room into a magical space. It is bigger than Felix and Emily’s, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by Emily, despite their apparent nonchalance at the news that they are getting a little brother or sister when Stuart finally agreed that they needed to be told.