‘I said I don’t know,’ she interrupted. ‘I like him a lot, but we haven’t known each other all that long.’

Silence again. Romy was aware of the Circle Line thundering under the building. It was something she’d barely noticed when she lived in the flat.

She watched him as he picked up his iPad, lowered his head. He wasn’t the man she’d married. Neither was he the man she’d left. This was – as Michael himself had told her – a whole new person she faced. And she wasn’t sure how to relate to his uncustomary desire to emote, to apologize, to self-deprecate. His new-found appreciation of her was disturbing, to say the least. Disturbing, because she couldn’t help but feel something tugging around her heart when he had claimed to miss so much about the life they had once shared.

Then swiftly on the heels of these thoughts came the words – involuntary and unwelcome – she would never forget: … forcing me back … so I was pinned under him, which no nostalgia – however genuine – was powerful enough to obliterate.

But through all this mental turmoil, one thing had become crystal clear: I can’t stay here with Michael any longer, Romy decided. I must talk to Daniel.

27

Finch was sweating by the time he’d finished washing the kitchen floor. He’d been on a mission since early morning: scrubbing the toilet and shower, polishing the chrome on the taps until it shone, twitching the freshly washed duvet on Grace’s bed until there wasn’t a single crease, opening all the windows so that the mustiness of a man living alone was completely banished. Finch had been in the army too long to tolerate mess – the house was always in good order – but now he took it to another level. A jug of pink roses from the garden in her bedroom, an enticing pile of fruit in the bowl in the kitchen, surfaces wiped, cooker gleaming, cushions plumped – he wanted it to be perfect.

Grace had rung first thing to say that Sam wouldn’t be able to make it till tomorrow. Finch was secretly pleased. He liked Sam – a mild-mannered surveyor with a neat auburn beard whom she’d been with for nearly four years now, married for two – but it was a treat, these days, to have time alone with his stepdaughter. It would give him a chance to tell her about Romy in private, gauge her reaction without an audience. And if it turned out Grace wasn’t ready to meet Romy yet, then so be it.

She was due at six, but knowing Grace’s slightly chaotic modus vivendi – and the Friday-night traffic – she might be much later. It was nearly six now, but he decided he had time to give Romy a quick ring and check she was still coming down.