When they drew up to The Willows not long after, Clara felt a small lurch of shock when she saw Tom’s black Audi parked in the drive. It hadn’t crossed her mind that he would be there today, and she sat staring at it, lost in thought. Mac glanced at her in surprise as he began to open his door. ‘Aren’t you coming?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Sorry.’ She undid her seat belt and followed him to the house.

When Oliver opened the door, Clara was shocked at the change in him. It was as though he’d aged a decade since last she’d seen him and she saw reflected in his face the same careering horror she’d endured herself those past few days; a vertiginous, eternal freefall where you almost longed for the ground to hit you, because that final violent impact must surely be better than this dreadful, endless plummeting.

‘Oh, Oliver,’ she said as she hugged him, ‘it’s good to see you.’

Releasing her, Oliver smiled faintly and shook Mac’s hand. ‘Mac, come in,’ he said quietly. ‘Glad to have you here.’

Silently they followed him through to the kitchen. But as soon as she walked into the room, Clara was struck by its strange, taut atmosphere and she froze inside the door, confusedly taking in the sight of Rose seated at the table, her head bowed, her face in her hands, while Tom stood over her with an expression of such anger on his face that Clara’s first instinct was to rush to stand between them, to shield Rose from her son.

Before she could move, however, Tom turned and, his eyes briefly meeting hers, abruptly moved away, crossing the room to the window where he stood looking out at the garden.

‘Rose?’ Clara asked in bewilderment. ‘Are you all right? What on earth’s happened?’

For a moment, when Rose raised her head and looked at her, Clara hardly recognized Luke’s mother, her expression was so tortured, so desperate, it seemed to contort her face into someone else’s entirely. But seconds later it had passed, the old Rose returning once more. She wiped her eyes, a shaky smile on her lips as she said, ‘Nothing! Nothing’s happened, darling. Or, you know … everything.’ She looked at Mac. ‘Goodness, Mac,’ she said weakly. ‘How lovely it is to see you too.’ She didn’t move, though; it was as if she was pinned to her seat and the four of them stood looking at each other, while Tom remained at the window with his back to them, radiating hostility.

Finally, Clara threw Mac a beseeching look and he grimaced, crossing the room to Tom and putting a tentative hand on his shoulder. ‘Hello there, pal,’ he said. ‘Long time.’