I am not sorry. I am sorry that Naomi’s mother is dying, but I am not sorry that Naomi is not there. She visited me in the hospital a few times with Rav, awkward visits full of stilted conversation and things left unsaid. Then finally, the week I was told I would be able to come home, she came to visit me alone. I think of that visit now, as Rav tries to make small talk, eventually falling into silence as we pull on to the M20.

‘Allie?’ I roll over in my bed as I hear her voice from the doorway. Maybe, if I lie still enough, she will think I am asleep. ‘Allie, I know you’re awake.’

I roll back to face the door. ‘Where’s Rav?’

‘He’s not here, he’ll be along later. It’s just me.’ Naomi walks across the room, her shoes squeaking slightly on the lino. She looks like she always does, perfectly made up and immaculate. I am plain-faced, my hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. ‘I wanted to talk to you alone.’

‘Why?’ I push myself up the pillows, making sure I am as far over on the bed as I can get. It feels odd, stiff and formal between us. There is none of the usual ease there was between us before, and as Rav was always here on previous visits I never realized quite how stilted it would be. I don’t know if it’s because I am ashamed of the way I behaved towards her, or if she finds it hard knowing that she was right. Even though I know I was wrong about things, it’s difficult to let go of something that I believed was real.

‘I wanted to apologize.’ Her cheeks burn red and I feel some satisfaction that this is as difficult for her as it is for me. Her fingers pluck and worry at the smooth white sheet on the bed, wrinkling it. ‘I’m sorry, Allie.’

‘What for?’

‘For … pushing you.’ Naomi reaches out now for my hand. I let my fingers lie limp in her palm, too tired to try and pull away. ‘I’m sorry for a lot of things. That I didn’t try and talk to you more about it, that I jumped to the conclusion that the children weren’t safe with you.’