‘You should have said something.’ He tightens his grip on my knee. ‘I do care, Claire. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ I place my hand over Mark’s and meet his gaze. He doesn’t look away and, as the TV glows in the corner of the room, something – sadness, hope, regret, I can’t be sure – swells in my chest. I used to be able to read Mark’s emotions as though they were my own but I have no idea what is going on behind his eyes. All I can see is my own concerned face reflected back at me.

‘Can I talk to you about something else?’ I ask.

He tenses. He thinks I’m going to mention Stephen. I can just tell.

‘Can you make things up with Jake? Please.’

His hand slips from my knee and he leans back into the sofa. ‘Do we have to do this now? I’ve had a hell of a day at work and I just want to relax.’

‘But he’s not happy, Mark. We had a chat the other day, in the garage. He’s worried about his relationship with Kira and I know he’s hurt by the things you said last week.’

‘Jake’s hurt?’ He shifts across the sofa and angles himself towards me. ‘Seriously, Claire? He gets pissed and causes a scene at the press conference and you’re having a go at me? What did you expect me to do – pat him on the back?’

‘We could have handled it differently. Instead of flying off the handle we could have—’

‘Done what? Sat down and had a nice chat? Taken him to a counsellor? Because that worked out well for you, didn’t it? You stopped going after three weeks.’

‘Why are you having a go at me, all of a sudden?’

‘Because you’re the one that’s brought it up! Jake is a nineteen-year-old man, Claire. He’s not a kid. I’m not going to mollycoddle him. He needs to hear it how it is.’

‘You squared up to him. You goaded him. And you’re supposed to be the parent. You’re supposed to—’

‘Don’t tell me what I’m supposed to do!’ He leaps off the sofa and glares down at me.

‘All I’m saying is that, if you’d have listened to me in the first place – if you toned it down instead of exploding whenever you get angry – then we wouldn’t be in this position.’

‘What position?’

‘Billy wouldn’t be missing.’

Mark freezes, hands still clenched at his sides, eyes fixed on mine, his lips moist with saliva. It’s as though someone has pressed pause on our argument.

‘I’m sorry.’ I can’t get the words out fast enough. ‘I didn’t mean it. I was angry. I’m not saying it was your fault. Mark! Mark!’