The click of the machine pulls George’s eyes away from the photo but the image is forever imprinted on his mind. The three of them crammed on a tiny caterpillar rollercoaster. Archie’s arms thrust high in the air. George’s arm looped around his wife and son’s shoulders. But it’s Leah’s hands he remembers the most. Skin bare on the safety bar that rested against their laps. Her eyes clear and bright, no hint of concern about germs. No distress at touching the place other hands had touched. He remembers how proud he was that she hadn’t pulled out one of the antibacterial wipes she carries in her handbag and wiped the metal down. He remembers how much he loved her then, and now? His heart is torn in two.

George isn’t proud of himself. He never thought he would be that man. The one in four who supposedly have affairs. But she had caught him at a vulnerable time. Leah had turned him away once too often; her fear of becoming pregnant immense. Archie was an accident, although ultimately a happy one, but Leah spent the pregnancy is a state of constant anxiety about giving birth in a hospital. The germs. The risk of infection. Although they had hired a birthing pool and set it up in their lounge, Leah had known there was a risk that medical intervention might be needed, and she had been right. Archie was breech. The midwife wasn’t happy with the way Leah’s labour was progressing. George had had to drive them to the hospital, Leah sobbing all the way. Screaming when they entered the ward because he hadn’t brought the kit she’d assembled containing her antibacterial spray and hand sanitizer. Her gloves. It took Leah months to recover from the trauma. She kept Archie away from mums-and-tots’ groups because of the risk of illness and became so distressed when George had taken him anyway, that he had never tried again. Gradually, though, she’d relaxed into her role.

Being a mum doesn’t come easy to her, he knows. It’s not only the germs, it’s the constant fear that something might happen to Archie. Something bad. He feels this himself as a father. The nagging worry that the outside world is too big, too harsh for his precious boy. He thinks this is probably true for most parents, but of course for Leah everything is heightened because of what she’s been through. Still, he had hoped as Francesca gradually lifted some of the heavy burden of fear Leah felt that she would want another baby – George had always dreamed of having a large family – but she was adamant she could never go through it again. Her heart couldn’t take it, and as a result his heart was half-empty.

Was.

George takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Marie. It rings and rings and he pictures her in her chaotic flat, shifting junk as she hunts for her mobile. Running her fingers through her hair while she tries to remember where she last had it. Hair that Leah says used to match hers, but Marie changes its colour all the time. There’s no hiding from those green eyes though and sometimes when Marie looks at him, it’s like looking at Leah and then the guilt kicks in. She’s so much like his wife, and yet equally different. Her answer service kicks in and he rings off. Tries again but she doesn’t pick up.