‘Lionel’s offered me extra hours because Carol’s leaving.’

‘I don’t know, Leah. I don’t think you should.’

‘Because you’re the man?’ George is quite traditional sometimes.

‘Because of Archie. Carly’s great helping out but how would you feel if she were always the one picking him up? Do you really want to work full-time?’

‘No. But if I need to, I will. I’ll do everything I can to help, you know, with money,’ I am lying to myself. Lying to him. The TV production company are offering enough to obliterate our debts but I can’t sell myself that way. The thought of it makes me feel sullied. ‘We’ll be okay.’ Another lie, but sometimes we tell ourselves the things we need to hear, don’t we? As though our words can make it so.

‘Yeah.’ He shuffles closer, puts his arm around me. I rest my head on his shoulder. We sit in a silence that is companionable rather than awkward.

I must have dozed off because the slam of a car door rouses me. Within seconds I am on my feet, peeping out of the window again.

‘Let’s go to bed,’ George says behind me. His breath hot on my neck.

Upstairs, I stroke George’s face with my fingers, feeling the rough stubble beneath my skin. I never wear gloves in bed. It’s my safe place. The feel of him around me, on me. In me. It’s the one place I forget. His lips are dry as I push mine against his, which are slow to move in response. My thumb dips under the elastic of his boxers. He catches my hands in his. Raises them to his mouth and kisses them. ‘I’m so tired.’ Rejection stings but I understand.

‘It’s been good to talk, though, hasn’t it?’ I ask.

‘Yes. Leah?’ There’s a beat. ‘I miss you too, you know. You have a choice to spiral backwards or to move forwards. To not let your past define your future. You get to decide, no one else.’

Turning this over, I coil my body around his, wishing I could draw in his strength. He is right. Anniversary or not, I can’t, won’t let that man break me. If I did, he’d be breaking us. George. Archie.

Tomorrow, however scared I feel, I will drop Archie off at nursery and go to work. Ask for more hours. Step up to my responsibilities. I am an adult now, not the scared eight-year-old girl I once was, however much I still feel her presence inside me with every decision I make. Everything I do. For me. For my family, it is time to move on. Perhaps there is something in Marie’s words. Twenty years of suffering is twenty years too much. In a few days the anniversary will be over. But I can make it lose its power now. Like throwing water over the wicked witch and watching her shrivel. Forging a normal life will be my bucket of cold water.

Enough.

I can cope now, I can. Even if it is the fear of George slipping away from me, fear of losing something, someone else, that has made me determined to do more. Be more. I won’t let another family fall apart. Not when I can stitch our fraying threads back together.