‘You do, though. I’m fighting. You might not see it. I’m trying to make Marcus see that it’s not my job to be in charge of every damn thing.’ Erica sags. ‘But you’re right. I’ve never been on a march.’

‘Would you like to?’

Leonie will never forgive her – from wherever she is now, the place where Vee will be before long – if she doesn’t show Erica what she’s missed.

*

Marcus has brought flowers home: a bouquet of roses and gypsophila, red blooms against a gauzy white background, wrapped in brown paper; Erica panics for a second, not knowing why, and then remembers how her mother thought that red and white flowers together were unlucky. It’s a good thing she isn’t superstitious. Even if she does feel as though she’s been ambushed by Ursula’s ghost, shaking her head in the corner. Marcus brought flowers, though. Erica feels something in her unlace, so that she can breathe a little more easily.

‘Thank you.’ She pushes her nose into them, even though she knows that, at this time of year, hothouse roses will smell of nothing much.

‘How did it go today?’

Lovelier than the flowers is the fact that Marcus remembered Vee was coming today; they’d barely spoken this morning, and he was home late and drunk last night after a work night out, so he slept in the spare room so as not to disturb her. That’s what he said, anyway. When did she start looking for other motives in kindness? ‘She can be a bit . . .’ she considers ‘. . . sharp. Unpredictable. But today was useful. I think.’ Every time she spends time with Vee, she is left with more things to think about. That’s good though. It gives her more choices when it comes to creating the story she will tell at the exhibition. With eight weeks until the opening, and less than six weeks until everything needs to be signed off, she needs to start firming her thoughts up. She’ll book Marcus’s mum for a couple of days next week. (Why, even in her own head, does she never call her Sarah? And why does she never ask Marcus’s father to help with childcare? He’s retired too.)

‘That’s really good.’ Marcus tousles her hair, and she tries not think of a dog who came straight back when called. ‘Where’s Tom?’