‘Well, she was all I had, really. I knew I’d lose her sometime. But when she went it was – like I didn’t really know where to put myself in the world. I had a rough time after it. Astrid had to look after me.’

I was surprised by the pang of something that struck me. Something like jealousy, or more likely sadness at the friendship we could have had all these years. Had I not made the choices that I did. ‘Have you spoken to her?’

He shrugged again. ‘We’re over. She wasn’t expecting me back or anything. I was sort of planning to drift. There’s . . . well, there’s no one waiting for me.’

‘So . . . you could stay for a bit? I mean only if you can. I know it’s a lot to ask.’

It seemed to me that it was a long time before he answered. ‘I’ll stay.’

Bill was making me a sandwich. There was plenty of food left over from the weekend, he assured me. I should go and have a bath and relax. I doubted that would be possible, but a certain feeling of peace did engulf me as I sank into the hot perfumed water. I loved this bathroom, with its old cracked tub and antique sink. Another reason I’d begged Mike to buy the place, despite the dodgy wiring and leaky roof. I’d kept the original eau de nil tiles, scrubbing them up and filling in any cracks, and arranged white towels in piles, a wicker laundry basket, photos in white frames. Of course, going for that interiors-mag feel was deeply pointless when you had a teenage girl spilling make-up everywhere and a little boy walking in mud and grass, but I tried. I always tried, that was the point. Right now, there were blades of grass smudged on the floor under the sink, and I wondered would the house ever feel truly clean again.

I sank deeper into the water, feeling my back muscles soften. I tried to take stock. Mike in hospital, stable after his surgery, but unconscious. His liver held together with stitches and hope. And when he recovered, if he recovered, then a trial, and maybe prison.