That evening, while she was putting out the bin, Simone confronted her in the street: “It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Sorry?”

“You got social workers involved, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

They were in front of their houses, Veronica alone and without even a phone in her hand. She reasoned, however, that Terry must be out otherwise Simone wouldn’t be talking to her, and it was still light, and the woman was hindered by babe on hip. “You saw some social workers?”

“Don’t pretend,” admonished Simone, spitting out the words as though the taste of them was disgusting, and all the while jiggling Jasmine who was reaching out for Veronica’s hair. “I’m not stupid.”

Veronica’s first thought was to reach for Jasmine. She couldn’t help it. Whenever she saw this child, the yearning inside her magnified. Just like it had with Harry, she supposed. It was as though her arms ached for a space to be filled, as though her body was only responding to a natural call. This time, however, Veronica kept her arms to herself.

Her second thought was to deny everything – the tentative disposition of the last year hard to shake. But instead, she found herself stepping forward, closer to her neighbour.

“Don’t you want to talk to social workers?” she asked Simone quietly. “You know that we hear things. Don’t you want to get out?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the woman hurried, just as Dominic had proclaimed.

“It’s not normal,” pressed Veronica.

“You have no idea about normal. I know you, you know.”

At this, Veronica felt a surge of caution. Often, she still felt that discomforting sensation of being watched, observed. Perhaps it wasn’t Terry after all. Perhaps it was Simone. “You don’t know me,” she ventured.

“Oh yes I do. I know all about your type. Whereas you know nothing – you don’t even know what you think you know. Terry’s a good guy really. You don’t understand. Besides, he adores me.”

“It doesn’t sound that way,” persisted Veronica.

“Then stop listening,” barked Simone. “Just stay away from us.”

“Well that’s a bit hard, isn’t it?” Veronica motioned towards their houses, seamlessly connected, except for the distinct dividing line of pristine paint versus peeling.

Jasmine lurched towards Veronica again, and roughly this time, Simone yanked her back. “You are so fucking condescending,” she laughed. “You have no idea. No idea. Just keep your nose out of our business, okay?”

She turned then, sharply, and strode for her door. Perhaps Veronica should have left it at that. Perhaps she should have stayed out of it. But instead, again, she found herself stepping closer, following. Simone’s shoulder felt hot under her touch.

“Get off me!”

Veronica lifted her hand. “I just want you to know that I’m here,” she said quietly. “If you need anything.”

She said this, and then she braced herself, half expecting to be slapped in the face. But instead, for the briefest of moments, the woman in front of her dissolved, and a different person passed through her. Veronica nodded with what she hoped was encouragement. Softly, she opened her mouth to speak again. But then, as quick as it had come, the calm intruder moved on, and now Simone shoved away the hand that Veronica had risked again on her shoulder, and muttering “fucking condescending”, bundled her wriggling daughter inside, slamming the door behind them.