She imagines Anoushka as a cartoon character with the voice of Cameron Diaz. Tom’s right – she looks exactly like Fiona.

Tom’s trying to picture Clive cheating on Derry. They seem pretty happy, though he imagines Clive would be hell to live with. ‘Maybe it was a long time ago. I mean with Clive and Derry.’

It’s Aurelia’s turn to look surprised. ‘Oh, OK. That makes it all right, does it? The passing of time …’

‘Well. Perhaps they’ve put it behind them. They’re trying for a baby now.’

‘Tom, are you saying that it’s fine to screw around? Is that your stance on it?’

‘I’m saying that every marriage is different. Some couples are fine with the odd indiscretion here and there …’

‘Indiscretion?’

He falls silent, afraid to say anything else that will land him in hot water. He feels as though she’s trying to trick him, that she’s deliberately misinterpreting him. He’s never been great with expressing himself. He often wonders if he’s got some form of dyslexia, the kind that affects speech. For him, language is another form of measurement, not an art. Space, structure, light and shadow – architecture is both art and language. At dinner parties Aurelia occasionally likes to bring up the fact that Tom has never once written her a love letter. Not once. Even his text messages are dry, to the point, devoid of kisses, emojis, emotion. They’re like chalk and cheese, she’s said more than once. He can’t deny it.

‘You know I would never …’ he begins, reaching out to take her hand. He can sense her insecurities rippling all over her. She feels hideous after the birth. She comments often on her ‘disgusting’ stomach, surveying her body in the mirror with disdain. He doesn’t understand it. She’s compared herself to Derry, grabbing her love handles every time she gets undressed, announcing she’s got Muffin Top like it’s a virus. Why can’t she see how sexy she is? He’s not completely convinced that she doesn’t. She must know she’s gorgeous. Yes, her stomach resembles an enormous croissant, but she’s just had a baby! The last time he said this aloud she burst into tears, and he’s been afraid to compliment her ever since.

‘I love you,’ he says. It’s the simplest, safest way he can convey his feelings for her. A thousand words are wrapped up in those three. Apologies, promises, wishes, erotic utterances – they’re all present in this simple phrase, a three-runged ladder to his heart.

She lifts her wet eyes to his.

‘I love you, too.’