‘Pleased?’ Are you mad? he nearly says, but doesn’t, because no one ever mentions the word mad in front of Caro. ‘God, Caro, it’s not that I’m not pleased, but it’s a hell of a shock, and let’s be honest, is it really the right time?’ He scrubs his hands tiredly over his face, and lets his words sink in for a moment. Rupert had come home just a month before to Caro locked in the bathroom, threatening to slash her wrists. He’s not sure he could cope with her mood swings and a baby.

‘Darling, it’s never the right time.’ Caro gets to her feet and comes to him, laying her hand flat on his chest. She fiddles with the buttons on his shirt, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. ‘Everyone agrees on that. But just think, a little me or a little you. How lovely would it be?’

‘It wouldn’t be lovely, Caro,’ he pushes her hand away, panic overwhelming him, ‘it would be hard, and I don’t know that your… that your mental health could take it. You’ve been ill, Caro, a baby might just be too much for you.’

‘Oh, just fuck off, Rupert.’ Caro pulls her hand back, snatching up the pregnancy test. ‘Who says you’ll get to make the decision anyway? It’s my body.’ And she flounces from the room, leaving Rupert feeling like the bad guy, even though he’s just worried about her. It’s what she does. Manipulates the situation so he is the one in the wrong.

Now, he pulls up at the house, nudging Emily awake and carrying their things indoors. Emily will understand that he wants to wait a while, he thinks, as he fills the kettle, pulls out the bag of fancy tea that Emily insists on buying. But he won’t talk to her about Caro. He can’t.

‘Rupert!’ Emily’s cry from upstairs is a piercing shriek, and Rupert drops the mug he is holding, shattering it into a million pieces over the tiled floor. He eyes it for a moment, before stepping to the bottom of the staircase as Emily calls him again, a panicky edge to her voice. Rupert steps on the bottom stair with leaden feet, his heart sinking in his chest. Emily was back to her old self at the cottage, but from the sound of her tone now, the relaxed, funny, laughing Emily of the past three days is gone.

‘What is it? Em, are you all right?’ Heading upstairs, Rupert peers into their bedroom but it is empty.

‘In here.’ Tears make her voice sound thick and clumsy. ‘Look.’

Rupert pushes open the door to the spare bedroom, the room he found Emily in just a little while ago, surrounded by his dead wife’s clothes. ‘What is it?’