‘Yes, that would be good – it’s freezing out there and I’ve been sitting in a car watching a house for the best part of twenty-four hours.’ He rubs his hands together as though to prove he’s cold, but his glowing cheeks are already testament to this.

‘Really? That’s not usually something you’d do, is it?’

‘As I said last time I was here, this case has really got to me. I’m probably what you’d refer to as obsessed …’

It was what I’d often said to Nick. He’d lose himself in the job and everything became about his current case. Life revolved around it. Me and the boys barely existed in his mind. Not my concern now, though.

Following a round of neutral conversational topics, Nick asks why I wanted to see him. After my conversation earlier with Olive, then the enlightening one with the playground mum, I’m unsure what I even want to say to him. I decide to go with the truth.

‘I was going to put a proposal to you.’

His eyebrows lift. ‘Oh? And there I was thinking you wanted a divorce.’

I give a small, nervous laugh and move on quickly.

‘The proposal being that I move with the boys to a house in Eastbourne, which is closer to Richard and will be rent-free for a year, and you move back here to oversee the house sale.’

Nick’s jaw slackens and I watch as the ruddy red colour leaves his cheeks. ‘Oh, I see.’ He gets up and walks to the lounge window, his back to me so I can’t read his expression. A sharp pain shoots through my chest. He wasn’t expecting this to be what I was going to say. Did he think I might be asking for a reconciliation? The thought crashes into my mind, but I know I’ve never given any indication that was on the table, and I clearly stated in the text I wanted to talk to him about the house. Why is he acting as though I’ve delivered a fatal blow?

‘It was just an idea. To be honest, I’m not even sure about it. I wanted to run it by you, though.’

‘Well, you’re going anyway if the house sells, so I’m guessing you’re not asking for my permission.’ I wince at the sharpness of his tone, but he’s hurting, like a wounded animal, and I know it’s just a reaction to his pain. I also know at this moment he’d like nothing more than to retreat, go off on his own to lick his wounds. But he stays.

‘No, not as such. I wanted your thoughts,’ I say, softly. ‘I mean, would you be happy to move back in and be the one to manage the viewings and, with luck, the house sale?’