None of which she would explain to her son. ‘Listen,’ she said now, ‘could you talk to Anezka?’

‘Me?’ Leo looked instantly nervous. ‘What would I say?’

She gave him one of her patient looks, which she knew had irritated both her boys in the past. ‘Just meet for a coffee and explain that she needs to come round and tell your father face to face that it’s over. I know she’s made it clear enough to the rest of us, but she never answers his calls and the message just hasn’t got through.’

Romy stood outside the Sussex cottage, breathing the clear sea air with relief. The house looked so welcoming – almost as if it were actually smiling at her – sitting in the neat row with its white walls and ash-blue window frames. She pushed aside a maverick tendril of the pale pink climber next to the front door and reminded herself she must cut it back later.

Her anticipation had been mounting over the past week, as she counted down the days before she was home again, before she could sleep in her own bed and not have to listen out for that damn bell, or hold her breath as she emptied the urine bottle or watch the man who had once been the centre of her life struggle in vain for his dignity.

She opened all the windows and doors, turned on the hot water and made herself a cup of tea. She would need to buy food, but that could wait. Now, she took her tea outside into the sunshine and sat at the new garden table – which looked almost too new, the wood glowing orange in the May sunshine – and let the heat of the sun warm through her.

Later, Finch brought round some lunch from the deli – sliced ham, big round beef tomatoes, potato salad dressed with olive oil, spring onions and lemon, and a triangle of Brie so ripe it looked as if it might wander off of its own accord, just how Romy liked it. They sat in her garden with a bottle of chilled Picpoul, talking with their usual ease, each enjoying digging out nuggets from the other’s life. Romy found her head spinning pleasantly from the wine, the sunshine and Finch’s diverting company.

It was such a contrast to the rest of the week that, as she closed her eyes for a moment, it seemed almost unreal that she was there. The invisible pall of London’s pollution, the suffocating flat, the constant background noise, she had barely noticed it when she lived there. But now, sitting in blissful quiet, surrounded by blooms and birdsong, the cool wind off the sea, she appreciated what she’d been missing – appreciated what she had now.