They both grin, then Finley gives Leo a playful punch in the arm. ‘Come on, Squirtle, last one to the slide is a rotten egg!’

They both run off, happy in the moment. I wish I felt as carefree right now.

It’s another half an hour before I see Nick’s car pulling into the car park. My heart does a rapid, double beat as he comes into view. He’s wearing a dark-tan leather bomber jacket, stonewashed blue jeans and Aviator sunglasses – his favourite kind; he has about six pairs of them. My pulse quickens again. I mentioned to him, when we first met, that he looked like Tom Cruise, only taller. He’d been chuffed with the comparison and since that time had revelled in the attention that emulating Tom got him. His current look appears to be from Tom’s Top Gun days. I can’t help but grin. I also can’t help but be attracted to him still. I may have lost that loving feeling, but he’s good to look at. As I think this, I have to stifle a giggle at my own joke. His concerned expression as he reaches me reminds me of why he’s here, though, and any hint of my smile disappears.

‘So, what’s going on?’ He gets straight to the point in his typical detective fashion.

The boys haven’t seen him yet and are busy spinning each other around on the roundabout. ‘Hi, Nick,’ I say, and without conscious thought I push myself into him, my arms wrapping around his middle. My face is against his chest, and I breathe in the smell of Dior Sauvage. The aftershave I bought him last Christmas, and the three before that. It immediately comforts me yet makes me feel vulnerable at the same time. I pull away before he does.

‘You’re going to think I’m over-reacting,’ I say, averting my eyes from Nick and gazing across the playing field instead. I may have already acted vulnerably, but I don’t want him to catch it in my eyes too.

‘Let me be the judge of that.’ If I had a penny for all the times he’s uttered that phrase.

‘Barb probably told you I let Carl arrange an open viewing of the house on Sunday?’

I hear Nick’s breath expel. I keep my focus forwards.

‘Yes, she did mention it,’ he says. The exasperation in his voice tells me she did more than that. She likely bent his ear about it for some time.

‘Well, I went to Jo and Keeley’s to keep out of the way, as it was Sunday, and had the bright idea of watching through the SmartRing app.’

‘The one you installed when I left?’ It’s a simple statement, no malice intended – but the words are somehow tinged with blame. Or maybe it’s my guilt that makes them sound that way.