But wanting him has destroyed her. It is destroying her children too.

Forcing herself to turn away from Dominic, Simone opens the door just a crack. The front door to the street sounds from below, they are almost gone, but she could still run down the stairs and catch them. There’s still time. She could still tell. She could tell. She could tell.

It’s not only Terry though, who might be told on. There are plenty of things that could be said about her too. Terry could say them. In his clever way, he could make her the villain. Then she could lose not only him, but the children. She could gamble, and end up with nothing. But what if she does nothing?

Glancing again to Dominic, she hesitates for a moment more. Her mind flitting back and forth. His eyes seem to lock her into immobility. They are so intense, always so intense and unreadable, so dark and tormented. That’s what she’s done to him, she realises. That’s what Terry’s done to him tenfold.

It was Terry who flushed Dominic’s head down the loo. It was Terry who stood on the doorstep arguing with her parents. It was Terry who put the final stop to their visits, leaning far into the car to make certain they understood. It was Terry who told Dominic he’d kill him if he tried to see them. He shouted this while holding his face hard against a pillow. It was she who stood by and did nothing.

She throws open the door.

And runs straight into Terry.

“Who the fuck were they?”

Terry’s mouth is close to Simone’s ear as he pulls her inside, slamming the door behind them. Dominic’s eyes dart anxiously to his mother, but from behind Terry, Simone shakes her head. She and Dominic have performed many roles today, they can do this one too. “Bloody social worker,” she tells Terry. “And some cops. Apparently somebody took issue with our noise last night.”

“Fucking wankers next door,” he spits. “I knew they’d do that. What did you say to them?”

“That it was a one-off party, that we’re usually quiet, having the kids and everything. That we’re really surprised by the complaint.”

“Hah!” laughs Terry, his mouth wide and wet. There is a blurriness to his gaze. He has been drinking, or smoking, or something. “That’s what all those exams of yours were for.” He grabs her around the waist and plants a moist, lingering kiss on her mouth. It is as though their encounter by the Nash arch never happened. It is as though he has never hit her or threatened her or taunted her, it as though they always love each other this way. “Did they buy it?”

“’Course,” she smiles. “I used my posh voice.” Then for authenticity she adds, “Bloody interferers.”

Now, Terry gets a different look in his eye, as if a new thought has traced itself in the muggy air in front of them. “I’m gonna lay into them, I tell you,” he mutters. “Bloody rich wankers. You should’ve heard the way that idiot talks, so far up his own arse. And her, with her smug, prissy face, I’d like to smash that in.”