“Right.” Donna scrawls rapidly in her notebook and looks up again. “Did you hear anything in the night?”

Izzy stares at her.

“So you slept through until Poppy’s mother called upstairs?” There’s a hint of impatience in Donna’s tone.

Izzy shakes her head. “Dad’s car woke me earlier so I went downstairs to do homework.”

“You’re an early bird then, like me?”

Izzy shrugs. “I had homework to finish, it was too noisy the night before.”

“Was that because Ash was making a noise?”

“The grown-ups were dancing; the music was really loud.”

Donna writes fast. She is getting the story she needs, fitting the fragments together, like the first pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, which are always the easiest to place.

“What’s Izzy up to?” Martin whispers to Grace, his eyes on Izzy. Grace glances at Melissa; her legs are twisted around each other, she is picking at her cuticles as she watches her daughter. She and Melly were the only ones who weren’t here last night. Melly must have thought, as she had, that the children had been working, at least for part of the time.

“Saying what happened, I suppose,” she snaps.

“She’s making it sound worse than it was. There was music playing in the background and some dancing, not that much.”

“And drinking,” Grace mutters. “Paul was obviously plastered.”

“Thanks, Isabelle, let’s take a little break now.” Donna signals to her colleagues and they leave the room.

“I’ll make something for the kids. Sandwiches will have to do.” Martin takes a knife from the block, pulls bread from the box, and peanut butter from the cupboard. He seems to know the kitchen well, but then it would be natural to help if he arrived early with the kids on a Sunday morning and Eve was busy getting ready. How foolish to let that niggling worry about Eve, about Martin and Eve, get the upper hand, especially now.

She glances at her watch. How much longer will they have to wait to hear anything?

Sorrel is tugging at her hand; the little girl is trembling. “I want Mummy,” she says.

“Let’s go outside and see if she’s coming.” Grace takes her hand, and at the moment of opening the door, a car pulls up on the drive. Eric gets out very slowly. He looks different, stooped; years older.

“Daddy!” Sorrel flies to her father.

Eric kneels to his daughter, clenching her to him, his face hidden as Eve emerges from the passenger seat. She is bent over, her hand on her abdomen as though protecting a wound. She begins to walk slowly to the house. She turns as Sorrel calls to her; her face is unrecognizable, so swollen and white it looks just as if she too had been immersed in water for a long time.

Sorrel is in the playroom again with Poppy and Izzy because the kitchen is crowded with people; Izzy’s dad has arrived; he isn’t talking very much. Some of the grown-ups are trying not to cry. Her daddy is actually crying, which makes her feel shaky. Mummy doesn’t look like Mummy. The playroom is dark because no one has turned on the light and she can’t reach the switch; the curtains are still half over the windows. She can see the donkeys standing by the shed, their heads hanging down; they look sad. No one is saying anything and it’s scary. Ash normally makes little noises in the background, like he’s talking to himself. They’re not usually words but it doesn’t matter because you can tell what he means and, anyway, he’s learning words. Then it hits her all over again, like something actually hitting her; he won’t be able to learn any more words now. He won’t ever actually talk in sentences. She starts crying and Poppy rolls her eyes but moves over and lets her sit in the chair with her. Noah pushes the door open wider and comes in and sits on the floor by the chair. She puts her bare feet on his warm back, which feels nice.