Finch wondered at the delay in her reply. He was trying hard to put himself in Romy’s position but, despite his obvious sympathy for her, was singularly failing to do so. He wondered why and realized it was because he couldn’t get a proper handle on Romy’s marriage or why it had broken up. Was he being played, as Jenny had almost suggested? And if so, why? Why would she bother with me, if she wants to go back to her husband? He took a deep breath, trying with all his might to fight off his jealousy.

‘So his speech is improving then? That’s a good sign, at least.’ He cringed at his jokey response. But Romy didn’t appear offended.

‘Every cloud,’ she said wearily. He waited for her to go on, but again it seemed a long time before she spoke. ‘He’s changed, Finch. He’s not the man I was married to.’

Finch expected more exposition, but Romy added nothing, except to say, ‘Anyway, see you in a week.’

They said goodbye and he clicked off, baffled. Was it good that Michael had changed? Or bad? And from whose perspective? He felt almost angry that he was suddenly in this unsettling position, after years of plodding quietly along in Nell’s reassuring shadow. Romy had ignited his feelings again, brought him alive. But now she seemed to be putting him on hold. He knew he should be more grown-up, but it was painful, as if his insides were twitching, vibrating, and there was nothing he could do to calm himself … He just had to wait.

21

‘God, Mum, it’s stifling in here,’ Leo muttered, fanning his face as he followed her down the corridor towards Michael’s bedroom. Romy could tell he’d run from the Tube because he was out of breath and sweating when he arrived. But she was so glad to see him.

She glanced round with an apologetic smile. ‘He’s really feeling the cold – I can’t crank the thermostat up high enough for him.’ She stopped outside the bedroom door. ‘I haven’t got him up yet. I thought you could help me wash and dress him.’

Leo nodded and gave her a smile, but it was clear he was steeling himself and she sympathized. Has he even seen his father naked? she wondered, knowing how private Michael had always been.

Michael was sitting propped against the pillows, the duvet up around his chin, his eyes closed, as they entered the room.

‘Hi, Dad,’ Leo said, hovering by the bed, clearly not knowing if he should kiss his father – it wasn’t really something the men in her family did. A brief cheek brush in the process of a hug was as physical as Michael got with his sons. In the end Leo just patted his father’s arm.