He sipped some wine. ‘Better to organize it like a campaign than fight it and end up feeling guilty.’ He wondered, as he spoke, what on earth he was doing persuading the woman he thought he was falling for to spend such extended time with her ex. The newness of their relationship made it feel very fragile.

Romy stretched and yawned. ‘God, I’m so tired,’ she said.

‘Shall I drive you home? Or you could stay here … No pressure,’ he added, not wanting her to think he was expecting sex, or taking advantage of her when she was so upset.

She seemed to be considering his offers. Then she met his gaze. ‘Would you mind if I stayed? Don’t think I’ve even got the energy to make it home.’

Romy fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. A person sleeping is so vulnerable that Finch almost felt guilty as he watched her. He had watched Nell sleeping when she was very ill, always convinced she wouldn’t wake again. But this was different. It was as if he were being given special privileges in seeing her long lashes fluttering on her cheeks, her hair falling over her eyes, her lips twitching slightly – as if she was talking to someone in her dreams.

When she woke in the night, she cried out, and Finch took her in his arms. She was trembling. He stroked her head, kissed her hair, told her it would be all right – as if she were a child. And she fell asleep again almost immediately. But he did not. He was struggling with a childish jealousy. Yes, Romy had clearly been keen to see him last night. And it was understandable that her thoughts would be consumed with Michael at a time like this. But he was filled with foreboding. Is she really doing this solely to protect her son?

17

‘Will you go back first thing?’ Finch asked, as they sat at his kitchen table on Sunday night, dazed and pleasantly tired from an afternoon on the beach. He had made a cheese and parsley omelette, tossed some leaves in dressing and toasted chunks of stale baguette. Setting the plates on the table, he poured them some wine.