All the love she’d ever had for her husband, though, was now muddled and muddied by the Grace issue, by Michael’s lies and also by his confusing vulnerability – his change of character, post-stroke. Confused by Finch, too. The man who had gazed at her so ardently from the other side of the kitchen table represented only disorder, and an ill-defined barrier to her aching desire for independence.

But today it was down to her to make the birthday cake and prepare the sandwiches, get Michael into reasonable shape to receive visitors, then make nice to the guests they’d invited to the flat to celebrate. At any other time, this would be a pleasure – Romy always found baking therapeutic – but she felt so at sea that she doubted she could force herself into the jolly-hostess mode she would need in order to get through the afternoon.

She girded her loins, nonetheless, baked a coffee and walnut cake, and made cucumber sandwiches – the Claire family’s favourite birthday tea. Michael seemed to understand that he couldn’t push her. He’d been quiet and undemanding in the run-up to the party, thanking her for every little thing she did for him until she begged him to stop.

By four o’clock, he was sitting in his chair by the fireplace, clean and respectable, clad in normal trousers for the first time and a new white cotton shirt instead of the usual T, which Romy had had to button for him. He’d also managed to shave his own head, with only one nick at the back, where nobody would notice. She noted a new determination in the man – almost a spring in his step – and worried that he felt released by his assumption that they’d finally sucked the poison out of the secret that had been holding them back for so long.

‘Hey, Mum.’ Leo kissed her briefly, turning quickly to introduce the pretty, rounded blonde who stood hesitantly in his wake. ‘This is Lucy … Lucy, this is Mum.’

Leo had asked if he could bring a ‘friend’ with him to the birthday tea and Romy had agreed, of course. Despite Leo rising thirty, Romy had never been introduced to any girlfriend before. She shook Lucy’s hand and smiled warmly.

‘Delighted to meet you, Lucy. Please, come in.’

Leo clutched at her sleeve as Romy ushered them towards the sitting-room door. ‘Mum, wait a sec,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me how Dad is.’ He seemed a bit on edge.

‘Much the same, I suppose.’

Leo nodded. ‘It’s just … I wanted to introduce Lucy to you both but I don’t want Dad … You know what he can be like or could be like.’ He ground to a halt, started again. ‘I thought maybe a thing where there were other people …’

Romy smiled, touched by her son’s concern for Lucy. She was clearly not just a friend. ‘He’ll be fine, Leo, go and say hello.’