Finch got home around twelve and showered, flopping onto the bed in his towel and gazing up at the ceiling. This was the ceiling Nell had lain staring at for weeks on end while she was ill. The crack, which emanated from the central light fitting and weaved its way erratically towards the window, was still there, as was the damp patch in the corner – the result of a leak in the hot-water tank in the roof. I should get the place painted, he thought, knowing he wouldn’t quite yet, because he still hung on to these small reminders of his wife.

His phone rang and he threw out a lazy hand to pick up the mobile from where it lay on the duvet.

‘It’s me,’ Romy said, unnecessarily.

Finch sat up. ‘Hey …’ But before he could say any more, Romy interrupted, her voice flat with resentment.

‘Leo knows about us. Michael told him.’

‘OK …’ Finch was not sure how to react. But if his own nervousness about the conversation he must eventually have with Grace was any reflection, then he could understand why she was irritated with her husband.

‘So how did he take it?’ Finch assumed badly, judging from Romy’s obvious anger.

‘He’s a reasonable person, Leo. I’m sure he wants the best for me. And he said all the right things. But I know him well. He was shocked.’ She hesitated. ‘Maybe he’s been hoping all along that Michael and I will get back together. It would be natural.’ Finch heard a short laugh. ‘And I’m his mum. It’s not the same as Michael and Anezka.’

Did Leo think this was a realistic hope, his parents getting back together? Finch wondered unhappily. ‘It should be, but I suppose it’s not,’ he replied.

‘I just wanted to tell him myself. In my own time,’ Romy said. ‘And I would have, but Michael and his bloody stroke got in the way.’ Finch winced at the harshness in her voice. ‘He said he thought Leo already knew,’ she went on. ‘But in fact he was just being spiteful. Scoring points.’

Finch couldn’t help experiencing a guilty surge of pleasure at her disparagement of Michael as he heard Romy add forcefully, ‘Anyway, it’s done now, and I’m glad he knows.’

‘I’m glad you’re glad,’ he said, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. ‘I should tell Gracie. She’s coming down from Manchester this weekend. In fact, I was wondering … maybe it’s too soon … but if you were here, perhaps we could meet up for a drink or something casual. I’d love you to meet her.’

‘Me too. But it’s your call. I was coming down on Saturday, anyway. I’m sorely tempted to just leave the miserable bastard to his own devices permanently, see how he likes that.’

But you won’t, he thought.