In a fury, he’d stormed upstairs to their bedroom.

Angelina was propped up in bed reading her book.

‘Darling, I’ve been so worried. Where have you bee—’

Before she could finish, David had gripped her by her forearms and lifted her bodily out of bed. He began to shake her like a doll.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ he’d screamed at her. ‘How dare you lie to me! How DARE you!’ Then he’d slapped her hard across the face and she’d crumpled to the floor.

He’d sunk down onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, weeping. ‘Why did you lie to me? Why? You never had any intention of us having another child, did you?’

When he’d opened his eyes again, Angelina had disappeared. He’d discovered her downstairs; she’d locked herself in the drawing room and dialled 999. When the police had arrived a few minutes later, they’d found him banging on the door demanding she let him in so he could explain.

Next morning, having spent the night in a police cell, he’d been charged with common assault. Angelina had been taken to the hospital to be checked out, but was back home again, shocked but unhurt.

Horrified at what he’d done, David had tried to explain to the police what had happened to him, and because he had no previous record of domestic violence, he’d been released.

Full of remorse, he’d walked the short distance home to find the house locked up like a fortress. He’d rung from a telephone box, but Angelina was not answering, so he’d gone back to the house, banged on the door and then tried to break in.

The police had arrived again, just as he’d smashed a windowpane with a large stone from the garden.

Angelina’s lawyer had immediately obtained a restraining order, forbidding him to go near the house, his wife and beloved son for the foreseeable future.

The following weeks were an alcohol-fuelled nightmare, from which David could not seem to wake.

Then finally, he’d woken up in the nasty cottage he’d rented out of desperation, and switched on the television.

On a morning chat show they were interviewing a reformed alcoholic and as David listened to the story of the man’s fall from grace, tears fell down his cheeks. It mirrored his own demise.

That night, David took himself off to an AA meeting.

And that was the beginning of his journey back to sobriety.

It had been hell, to begin with. Far more difficult than David could ever have imagined. But as the weeks went by and he was still sober, his vision had begun to clear.

He’d consulted a lawyer in Foltesham, a woman called Diana Price, who’d remarked that the speed with which Angelina had obtained the restraining order was distinctly odd.

‘Your wife wasn’t actually admitted to hospital,’ she’d said, ‘even though she spent some time in Casualty. And, of course, you should be seeing your son, even if it has to be under supervision.’