The best bit of the whole ‘bribery’ affair? That Marcus was actually grateful to me when I’d told him I’d tracked Sid down; that, with a lot of begging, I’d persuaded him to keep the money, to not print anything about us.

Now I slid the photos of my husband and that ghastly Dores kissing outside the Portuguese café back into my envelope, then slipped the whole thing into the pages of my dear pa’s old F–L Encyclopedia Britannica.

It was always a good idea to have some capital to trade with. Marcus taught me that himself, when he made his hedge-fund fortune, just before the financial crash of 2008, which only saw us come out richer in the end.

I shut the heavy book and placed it back on the shelf.

Then I went upstairs, passing the kitchen where Beau was laughing at something the au pair had just said, waving at Willow who was demonstrating a ballet sequence on the phone screen to her new boyfriend. I went up to change for Vinyasa Flow.

After all, if we were headed for Number 10, it was only sensible to keep myself trim.

MELISSA

After Ruby had returned to London in January, I’d started to feel it moving, and I began to debate whether I should let him know.

At first it had seemed so slow, but the push and flutter came soon after. I was incredulous with delight, but I couldn’t really believe it would stay. And I was scared too.

How could I do this now, alone, in this savage, failing world? But I knew there was no other choice.

It had been made for me.

I found myself dreaming of Fin in the deepest hours of night.

This was a weakness, I knew, and I pushed the thoughts away hard when I woke – but still the dreams came back again, time after time.

I’d made a few friends teaching yoga; occasionally I’d sit in the corner in the warm café on the little square in Old Town and read the Tarot for anyone friendly. They’d drink their Chai lattes or green juice – but it couldn’t have been more different to Northgate Square.

I’d watch the gulls wheel and cry across the huge empty skies above me, and I’d feel the kick, the butterfly stroke backwards through my belly. I texted Cecilia a copy of the scan, and she said she’d get the train down the next weekend, after her shift at the vet’s. We’d stay close.

But I still felt a yearning to see the man who’d made this with me. And then I’d curse myself. I wasn’t quite as tough as I’d spent all these years pretending to be, and that was frustrating.

In February, I sent him a message. The bump was starting to show, and I’d started to teach antenatal yoga, to make more friends.

I heard nothing back. Well, I hadn’t expected to, after all.

March came and went: In like a lion, out like a lamb. My belly grew rounder, a little tighter.