‘I’ll ask him,’ she murmured, taking her phone out of her pocket and pressing Harry’s number. ‘He might be in a meeting,’ she added as the call connected, preparing her daughter for whatever excuse he’d come up with, because she knew Harry wouldn’t leave work to come crabbing.

When there was no answer she didn’t leave a message. He would see that he had a missed call and maybe call her back. ‘Sorry, girls, he must be busy.’ She put the phone on the wall beside her with a surprising feeling of disappointment, and realised that after seeing him so engaged with the girls, she’d hoped he might carve out more time to be with them. They should be his priority, as they were hers. Spending the evening having fun, which cost less than ten pounds.

Janie shifted position on the uncomfortable concrete. Maybe both their priorities were still wrong? she wondered. Maybe every decision they continued to make was about money and having the best of everything. The biggest house, the most expensive swimming pool, the best education. The most spectacular office for the business.

She continued to look across the Lymington River at Morris & Wood. The glass windows sparkled back at her, an image of her husband behind them filling her head.

Over the years she’d wondered whether Harry realised their marriage had all gone wrong, because after they had moved to the south coast they hadn’t discussed what had happened. Possibly he thought he’d fixed it by moving, keeping Janie in a comfortable lifestyle, where she didn’t need to think about going back to her job if she didn’t want to. Ignoring the part he’d played in it, probably not even realising he’d played one at all.

No, Janie didn’t believe that. Harry knew, he’d just pushed it out of his head so that he didn’t have to confront it. He knew because she’d told him clearly enough, but all he’d said was, ‘What did you expect, Janie? What did you expect?’

She’d expected her husband to understand. To offer his support in some way, but he hadn’t. He had been more invested in ensuring there was no blame laid at his door.

She was a defence lawyer after all, so what did she expect? That was what Harry had meant. And in a way he was right.

Maybe if Miles Morgan hadn’t ever walked through her door all those years ago, she wouldn’t be sitting on the quay now, staring at her husband’s office, wishing she was no longer married to Harry. But he had, and she had fallen for his charm and readily snapped up his case. And so what use was it deliberating over the what-ifs? There was nothing she could do to change the past. Because that was the only place Miles was now – in her past.