She was startled by the sound of the key in the lock and looked at the time. It was only eleven. They were early. She had not expected them back until around two. But there were no voices, only the quiet closing of the door and soft footsteps in the hall. The door opened into the living room and Bannerman stopped on the threshold. He smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’d forgotten you’d be here. My mind was on other things.’ He swayed slightly as he closed the door and she saw that he had been drinking. He slipped off his coat and threw it over the back of the settee.

‘You’re drunk,’ she said.

‘No.’ He shook his head again. ‘A little bit drunk, a little bit sad.’ He walked unsteadily past her to the window where he drew back the curtains and stood looking out into the blackness. He could not have seen anything for the light in the room, but she could see his face reflected darkly in the glass. He sank his hands deep in his pockets and she saw his eyes closing. She said nothing, and the moments of silence dragged on. Then he said unexpectedly, ‘You know, there is no way of escaping the things you regret. They’re always there, shaping the way you are, even when you don’t know it. And then something, or someone, brings it all back and it seems all the worse for the years you’ve buried it.’ Sally did not know what to say. He would not, she knew, say these things if he had not been drinking. ‘First the kid,’ he said, ‘and then Platt, and maybe even you in some way.’ He turned to face her.

She eased herself out of the settee and moved towards him. ‘Don’t say any more.’ She put a finger up to his lips and he kissed it before pulling it gently away.

‘I need someone . . .’ he whispered.

She shook her head. ‘You should sleep on it.’

‘Alone?’

‘Alone.’ And she felt afraid again. It would be so easy. And it had been so long.