He passes a man with his son, on their way back from a school event, the boy in the uniform of the local secondary. He is looking up at his father, describing something, his eyes aglow, his hands animated. It makes Nick think of his relationship with his own father. He knew from a young age, possibly as early as his mid-teens, that he couldn’t and shouldn’t trust him, that as a role model he lacked the necessary qualities. He remembers being glad his parents didn’t have more children, because he would have felt responsible for their happiness.

On the other hand, had there been siblings, his parents’ focus wouldn’t have been entirely on him, especially now that they were getting older. They live on the edge of their overdraft limit, with several over-burdened credit cards between them. Every month, he hands over a chunk of money. He could be petty and cut them off, but he’s determined to be a good son, to be the bigger person. He is exasperated by them, but he loves them too. What makes him cross is the way his mother constantly undermines Grace. What hurts Grace, hurts him. If only they would treat her with more respect.

They do a quick circuit, nodding at canine acquaintances and their owners, then cross back over, and that’s when he sees her: a woman coming towards him, a look of intent in her eyes. He glances round to see if there’s someone else, a friend perhaps lurking behind him, but there’s no one there, so he smiles and waits.

‘Nick,’ she says. ‘I thought it was you.’

Toffee strains at his lead, gives a friendly bark and lets her pat him. Nick frowns, puzzled. It doesn’t take long to work out that he knows her, especially when she straightens up and runs her fingers through her hair, the gesture so familiar, it wakes a dormant horror. His heart slams against his chest.

‘Taisie,’ he says.

‘Anna. I call myself Anna now.’

‘Oh. Right.’ The happiness and sense of contentment he had been feeling has vaporized, replaced by the chill of despair. ‘What are you doing here?’

She smiles, despite his lack of civility. ‘I live here. But only since January. My son’s in the same class as Lottie. I know Grace.’

Her voice is friendly, like she’s just one of the other mums Grace talks to; perky and bright. He looks into her eyes, tries to see beyond them, but they give nothing away.

‘She might have mentioned you,’ he murmurs, checking his watch to give the impression he has somewhere to be. ‘But I wouldn’t have put two and two together.’

‘No, of course not. That’s why, when I spotted you, I thought I’d say hello. But don’t worry,’ she laughs. ‘I’m not going to tell her your secrets.’