‘Daddy!’

You bounced on the bed, eyes shining, giddy with excitement.

Richard fell to his hands and knees on the carpet and crept over to you, starting your old game together. He’d called the following day, asking to come round after work and you were as pleased to see him as I was. You ran to jump on his back, clung on as he bucked and twisted and neighed.

The towel I was folding, still damp from your bath, hung limp in my hands as I watched. The two of you rolled about on the floor, Richard’s shirt rising, showing the rounded flesh of his stomach above the waistband. Your eyes were joyful as you wrestled, as he swung you, ending with a bear hug.

You wriggled out of his arms.

‘Take them off, Daddy!’ You pointed at his shoes. ‘Take them off!’

‘You sure about that?’ Richard looked amused as he prised them off, brandished his feet. ‘Stinky smelly socks.’

I knew what you were thinking. Shoes meant he was about to leave. You wanted him to stay.

Richard read the bedtime story. The two of you cuddled up in the lumpy armchair, his broad, strong body curled round your smaller one. You rested your head against his arm, drowsy but safe. This was how it was meant to be, the three of us, cosy here in this home we bought together, made together. Richard looked happy as he held you, giving his all to the story. The strain eased from his face. He was never a handsome man. Not to other people. But he was kind and loving. And loyal, I’d thought.

Afterwards, once we’d settled you with your bear and kitty cat and rabbit and the rest of the menagerie, his mood stayed thoughtful and a little sad. I watched as he kissed you goodnight, stroked your hair from your face. Maybe he did miss us. Maybe the accident had forced him to think how much he loved you and what he’d lost. Maybe visits like this reminded him of how happy we once were.

He followed me through to the kitchen, chewing the corner of his lips. He pulled on his jacket and I reached out and put a hand on the top of his arm, smiled.

‘She’s thrilled to see you.’

He turned away, embarrassed.

‘She loves you, Richard.’

I had the sudden urge to say much more. To open up to him all over again. To say: when I see you with her, I feel as if I still love you too, you do know that? Maybe it’s not too late, after all. If you’ve realised what a mistake you’ve made. If you want to ask my forgiveness and ask if we can start again…

He mumbled: ‘I love her too.’

I turned to the bottle of red wine, open on the counter from the previous night, and poured two glasses, handed him one. He came through to the sitting room with me, his wine in one hand and his shoes bunched in the other, and perched on the edge of the settee.

‘So.’ His eyes strayed to the vase of roses on the mantelpiece. Matt had sent them, to say thank you for our date. I’d made sure they were prominently displayed; I couldn’t help it. ‘How are things?’

I shrugged, settled into an armchair across from him. ‘OK. You know.’

‘Not missing work?’

‘Not really.’ I bent down to pick up a stray piece of Lego on the carpet. I wasn’t going to admit to him that I worried about money. I’d be earning again soon enough. ‘Gracie keeps me busy. She seemed to need me more now. Since the accident.’

He bent over and started to loosen his shoelaces, push on his heavy shoes. ‘She’ll be off to school soon.’

‘She will.’ The house would be so quiet all day without her. So tidy. ‘I’ll miss her terribly.’

He finished with his shoes and sat stiffly, sipping his wine. His awkwardness was all the sadder because he was once so at ease here.

‘Has she ever talked to you about Venice?’

He didn’t look as if he were listening.

‘She says she wants to go. I just wondered where it came from.’

Richard shrugged. ‘A story?’

‘We’ve never read a story about Venice. Don’t you think it’s odd?’ I went to the table at the far end of the room where clutter gathered and picked up one of your pictures to show him.

‘Look.’ I held it out. It was one of your yellow light drawings, small dark figures set in a landscape of brilliance. ‘She keeps drawing these. She says it’s where she went when she had the accident.’

Richard glanced at it. ‘She’s always liked colouring.’

‘It’s more than that.’ I paused. ‘It’s weird. She seems to… know things. And she keeps talking about death and what happens when people die. Maybe she ought to see someone. Like a child psychologist.’

He looked tired. His cheeks were soft pouches and the flesh below his chin was slack round the bone. When we first met, he was a lean young man, hungry in every sense, keen to make his mark on the world. That was a long time ago.

I put the picture down. ‘I just thought you’d be interested.’

Richard leaned forward, cradling his glass. ‘I think she’s fine, Jen. Really. Let her be.’

‘Let her be?’ I looked up, stung.

He shook his head. ‘I just mean—’ He looked as if he wished he hadn’t spoken. ‘Maybe she needs her own space. Don’t overanalyse everything.’

We sat awkwardly for a few moments, Richard staring into his wine.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He sighed. ‘Forget it, Jen. Really.’

He got to his feet, set down the glass. For a moment, he looked about to leave, then he crossed to stand at the window, looking out into the darkness. His reflection in the glass was ghostly.

‘I want to see Gracie more often.’

His tone was suddenly formal. I steadied myself.

‘Not just here. Not just a story at bedtime and the odd day out.’ He paused. ‘I want to take her properly again. For weekends. Maybe on holiday.’

He turned to face me. He spoke quickly but gently, as if he’d already practised the words, as if he was relieved to get them out.

‘I know you’ve been through a lot. We all have. You’ve wanted to cling to Gracie since, you know, the accident. But she’s my daughter too. You need to let go a bit, Jen.’

My pulse quickened. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? Ella.’

‘What is?’ He sounded cross. ‘Why I want access to my own daughter? It’s nothing to do with her.’

It was everything to do with her. I didn’t trust her. I took a deep breath.

‘The accident was partly her fault too, you know. Ella was on the phone when the car swerved. Did you know that? Shouting. She was distracted.’

He made a guttural sound. ‘God help me.’

‘It’s true. Gracie told me.’

‘You should hear yourself.’

He moved away from me, towards the door.

‘Gracie’s your daughter. You can see her.’ I got to my feet, grabbed at his arm. ‘But not her.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’ He shook his head. ‘She adores Gracie. And Gracie loves her. You should see them together. Honestly—’

‘Oh please.’ I bit my lip, steadied myself. ‘I don’t want her anywhere near Gracie. I don’t like her. I don’t trust her.’

‘She told me not to come.’ He prised my fingers off his jacket. Our faces were close and for a second, I thought he was going to kiss me. Then he pulled away.

‘I’m filing for divorce, Jen. I’m sorry. Ella and I want to get married. You understand?’ He paused, reading my face. ‘She’s going to be part of Gracie’s life from now on. Whether you like it or not.’

He disappeared into the hall. I wanted to follow him but I couldn’t move. The sitting room seemed suddenly very cold. I found the edge of the armchair and sat on the arm with a bump.

Richard strode back in, buttoning his coat. His face was tight.

‘I’m trying to do this the nice way, Jen. But if you make this difficult, I’ll go to court. I’ll have no choice. Don’t make me.’

I couldn’t answer.

A moment later, the front door banged as he let himself out. I sat quietly, perched there on the edge of the chair, my feet juddering on the carpet, listening to his footsteps fade in the street. I reached for my glass, drank off a gulp of wine.

It was over. He was going to marry her. She was taking Richard from me and she wanted you too. My stomach tightened. I bent over, one arm clutching my front. A dribble of wine slipped out from the bowl of the tilted glass and ran down my leg. The smell rose at once, rich and lush. I shook my head, thinking of you asleep upstairs. I’d nearly lost you once, my love. I wasn’t going to lose you again.