‘I had a lovely time, Mrs Porter,’ Peter says, treating her to his most charming smile. ‘Thank you very much. I hope I can come again.’

He’s saying exactly what I’ve told him to say, exactly what he should say. Only I can hear the mocking taunt in his voice.

We drive home in silence. I steal a sideways glance at my son as we wait at the lights, wondering what’s going on inside his head. There’s always been an opacity to him: even as a small child he was difficult to read. But there’s no mistaking the new malevolence lurking beneath the surface. It feels personal, directed at me.

‘I like Stacey,’ he says unexpectedly.

‘Mrs Porter,’ I correct.

‘She asked me to call her Stacey.’

‘Why do you like her?’ I ask. I’m genuinely curious: Peter doesn’t like anyone.

‘She’s cool. She’s not like other mothers. She says I can go back to her house whenever I want.’

‘OK,’ I say.

‘She told me she wishes I was her son, instead of Archie,’ Peter adds. I don’t miss the unspoken corollary: I wish she was my mother.

‘Dad got your homework from Jonah’s mother,’ I say as I double-park outside our house and wait for him to get out. ‘Make sure you catch up on everything you missed when you were at the studio with Stacey today.’

Peter smiles secretively. ‘I didn’t miss anything.’

My son’s smile stays with me for the rest of the afternoon.

The trustee meeting at five drags on well into the evening, and it’s almost nine by the time we’re done. I spend the next hour catching up on paperwork, and I’m finally about to leave my office and go home when my pager goes off.

‘RTC,’ my colleague says crisply, when I respond. ‘Hit and run, the fuckers. CT angio confirmed an ascending AD. Looks tricky. How long would it take you to get back to the hospital?’

‘I’m still here,’ I say. ‘Prep for surgery. I’ll be down in five.’

I don’t wait for the lift: speed is of the essence. An aortic dissection is a serious condition in which a tear occurs in the inner layer of the body’s main artery, the aorta: blood rushes through the tear, causing the inner and middle layers of the aorta to split. If the blood goes through the outside aortic wall, aortic dissection can be fatal.

As I take the stairs two at a time, I call Tom to let him know I’m going into theatre and won’t be home. My attending briefs me as I scrub for surgery: the patient is a young woman, no underlying health conditions, minor contusions and abrasions. Married, two children.

It’s only when I see her on the table I realise it’s Harper.

chapter 40

stacey