‘I do mind, actually. You don’t get to dismiss me, Cora. This conversation isn’t over.’

She looks down her nose. ‘I’m afraid it is. Without my son you are nothing.’

I race upstairs to the spare bedroom where I begin tearing clothes off hangers and throwing them into their suitcases. Cora pounds up after me, bursts in and pulls one of Tim’s sweaters out of my hands.

‘Get out of here! Don’t touch our things, you little bitch.’ She starts clawing at me, grabbing at my hands, her manicured fingernails gouging at my wrist. It hurts so much that I elbow her hard. She falls against a chair, rights herself and comes for me. I duck out of her way, pull open the chest of drawers and scoop armfuls of underwear on to the bed. Bras and knickers, tights, Tim’s socks and boxers. Cora keeps shoving them back in, but I pick up a bundle of clothes, take them out of the room and throw them over the stairs. Some of them get caught on the banisters on their way down, giving the stairwell a chaotically festive look.

Cora comes storming out of the bedroom, her hand raised. I step to one side to avoid a slap and she trips over Toffee, who has sprung forward to protect me. Tim catches her, and they struggle, almost falling downstairs. Cora, normally so coolly elegant, lands heavily on her husband in an ungainly sprawl.

I come to my senses. Horrified, I try to help her up, but she shoves my hand away.

‘That’s assault. I’ll be reporting you to the police.’

‘But I didn’t,’ I splutter. Then I look at the three of us and feel sick. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. The last time I lost control this badly was with Douglas. He still bears the scar to prove it, and I have a criminal record. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

Tim rubs the back of his head. ‘Oh Lord,’ he says. ‘That was a bit … uh … unexpected.’

‘I’m not sure I can stand,’ Cora says.

I wince. ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’

‘No. Just get out of my sight.’

I hesitate, thrown by the vitriol in her voice. ‘I’ll get some ice.’

I run downstairs and into the kitchen. Cora’s mobile starts ringing. Ignoring it, I get a packet of frozen peas out of the freezer and wrap it in a clean dishcloth. Then I pick up the phone and go back up.

‘Your phone rang,’ I say, handing it to her. I kneel down next to Tim and press the improvised ice pack against his bump.