But, whatever the truth, nothing would mend the chasm that had opened up between her and Finch. Apologizing for blaming Grace would not wipe Romy’s words from his memory or hers. So even if she did say sorry, and she would, and even if he completely forgave her, which, being Finch, he might, Romy couldn’t see him choosing her over his stepdaughter, over Nell’s daughter. And he would have to choose, because Grace was never going to be comfortable having Romy around for weekend visits or jolly family get-togethers.

No, her love affair with Finch – that beautiful, surprising connection they had – was ruined now. In her mangled state, she felt nothing, just completely numb.

She heard a thud from next door. The last thing she wanted right now was to have to face the man responsible for her current nightmare. She held her breath.

There was another thump, a loud groan, then Michael’s voice calling her …

He had fallen out of bed and was lying on the floor, legs out at odd angles, head rammed against the bedside cabinet. He was clutching his reading glasses in his good hand, his eyes glazed as he stared in her direction.

‘Can’t move,’ he muttered, straining to pull himself up. ‘Can’t move, Romy. Can’t bloody move.’ His voice became more and more strident as he writhed around, pulling at the bedclothes, scrabbling at the carpet with his fingers, his glasses flung away and being crushed beneath his body.

‘It’s OK. I’m here, Michael. We’ll get you up. Stop – stop struggling.’

He blinked up at her and she saw the fear in his eyes as she knelt beside him and pulled him round until she could hook her arm through his and haul him up and onto the bed. He was gripping her with such ferocity that she knew she would have bruises by morning.

‘I’ve got you, it’s OK,’ she kept repeating, trying to soothe him. But the way he was catching at her made them both almost topple over. It was a good few minutes before she managed to land him back on the bed, lifting his legs and swivelling him round until he was lying flat out. But he wouldn’t let go of her and she lost her balance and fell down on top of him.

For a moment she lay there, unable to prevent the memory of the many times they had lain like this, naked, making love. Not for a while now, but the sex they had shared in the past – so different from her lovemaking with Finch – had been quick and fierce and hungry, Michael always in a hurry. I enjoyed it, she thought sadly, as she began to pull away – but not before Michael had laid his hand gently to her cheek, his eyes gazing at her with a sort of hopeless longing.

‘Kiss me,’ he asked, his voice no more than a whisper.