‘Because he knows I made a mistake,’ I said. ‘And because he knows I love him.’

‘Ah, love! That explains everything.’

‘And because he knows I regret it.’

She turned to size me up, unsmiling now.

‘Do you? Do you really, Tara? Or do you regret getting caught?’

‘I regret all of it. I will be sorry about it for the rest of my life. But it was different with Dad. All those women over all those years. It wasn’t just a one-off mistake, was it? It was a way of life.’

‘Not for years now.’

‘Because he got sick.’

‘No, before all of that. Because he got older and wiser and got it out of his system. And he saw what we had – in the end.’

I laughed with disbelief.

‘In the end!’

My mother did not reply immediately. She waved and smiled encouragement to her grandson, progressing at a stately pace on the far side of the riding pen, before looking at me, surprisingly calm, not remotely irritated by her mouthy daughter now, as if she had known some hard truths for half a lifetime that I still had to learn.

‘Yes, Tara – in the end. You want to know – why did I stay? I stayed because it was my home. It wasn’t just about me and my hurt feelings, was it? It wasn’t just about me and my broken heart. It was about having a daughter who would be changed forever if I kicked him out or if I walked away. You would be a different person if you hadn’t grown up on – I don’t know what to call it – that rock, that foundation of family. And he always came home. And he never fell in love. Not with any of them. It could have been a lot worse. Your father could have been like other men, trading in his family every few years for a new one. Starting a new franchise of younger wife that doesn’t look so different from the last one and having more kids. But he always came home to us. To you and me, Tara. There may have been lots of other women but he only had one home. And it’s hard, isn’t it? It’s hard for everyone.’

‘What’s hard?’

‘Marriage. You and Christian must be going through the same thing or you wouldn’t have – what would you call it? Strayed.’

‘I still love my husband.’ I felt my face flushing. ‘In every way.’

‘Of course you do, dear,’ she said, the old impatient tone creeping back into her voice.

‘I don’t want to argue,’ I said, almost desperate. ‘I just want to understand.’

We watched Marlon’s slow procession around the riding pen and I thought how much my father would have loved to see his beloved grandson riding Maple and my vision blurred with tears.

‘I miss him,’ I said. ‘I miss Dad.’

‘Me, too,’ my mother said briskly. ‘He’s a good man. He’s a good man who has done some bad things and he has tried to make up for them.’