‘Honestly, Bess, that was one of the worst days of my life.’ Mario turned now to look at her briefly over his shoulder, his eyes red and puffy. This was news to her. She had wrongly assumed that, like her, he had put the whole sad episode to the back of his mind and moved on. It was shocking that he had carried this distress for all these years, tangled with concern for her and sadness at all he himself had lost. ‘To see you curled up in the middle of that bed, gripping your stomach and crying – and me not being able to do anything to make it better . . . I remember Jake and Nats were downstairs playing and making so much noise I wanted to punch the wall!’

‘Oh Mario!’ She reached for him and he sidled back on the bed, coming to rest with his head on her chest and his hands clasped between his thighs, unintentionally mirroring the pose she had struck on this very bed. His large work boots sat neatly ankle to ankle on top of the duvet. She smoothed his hair, which smelled of lemons and sweat, holding him until his sobs subsided. It felt good to hold him close, a privilege she had forgotten. She wondered if it was only the baby he was crying over or whether he, like her, used it as a way to flush out all the things he found most distressing, knowing that once she started crying, other reasons for sadness would always tap her on the shoulder and add their voice to her tears. It was rare, this level of contact, rare and now therefore unnatural, making her realise just how far they had drifted. This thought she would keep to herself, along with the other secrets. He nestled into her in an act so trusting and authentic it gave a glimpse into the couple they once had been, where intimacy and honesty were the bywords. She missed it and kissed his scalp.

‘Everyone told me it “just happens”. Some even said it was “nothing” – that we’d get over it and all I had to do was look after you, and I did look after you, didn’t I?’

‘You did! You really did.’ Bess felt a surge of love at the memory of just how much he had cared for her, his never-ending patience and his love.

‘But it didn’t seem nothing to me. It felt like something, a very important something, and I still think about it sometimes. He’d be nearly twenty, wouldn’t he?’

She nodded. Twenty? God, that had gone fast, but yes, Mario must be right, twenty . . . She pictured Jake at the same age and, try as she might, could not imagine a different, younger version of Jake, brothers, which was odd, as she had no trouble picturing a different, older version of Natalie.