‘Have you got bear?’

You opened your bag to check, nodded. Your face was solemn.

Richard held up your coat, trying to push your arm into the first sleeve.

‘Daddy will look after you. But if you need me, you know you can phone. Alright, my love? Any time at all, day or night.’

Richard said into the coat: ‘Maybe not night.’ Your second arm found its sleeve and he reached round you, zipped up the front. ‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, sausage? We’ll be too busy having fun.’

‘She’s got two lots of pyjamas, just in case. And make sure she cleans her teeth properly, won’t you? Not just the front ones.’

Richard didn’t answer. I knelt down to you and opened my arms, squeezed you tightly for as long as I could until you wriggled free. ‘Don’t forget how much I love you.’

You didn’t answer. You were busy with your gloves, finding the right holes for each finger.

‘All the way to the moon and back,’ I whispered into your soft hair. ‘And a bit more.’

‘Come on.’ Richard put his hand on your shoulders, reached to open the front door and steered you out. I stood there on the threshold, sick to my stomach, watching as you climbed into the back of his car and he fastened you into your seat. Ella, resplendent in the front, twisted back to talk to you.

I waved as he pulled away and eased into the road but you didn’t even look. When I shut the front door, the house was unbearably silent.

It felt strange, setting out alone that evening. As I got on the train, I expected the other passengers to stare. I missed you so much, my love. Such a physical sense of your absence. I sat quietly on my own, without your small, fidgety body on the seat beside me, climbing back and forth over my knees, craning to look out of the window. I had to remind myself not to point out the power station, the police car flashing alongside the railway, the horses in a dark field.

I got out my phone and texted Richard. All OK?

No answer.

---

Matt had chosen the restaurant, a little Italian bistro in town, hidden away down a side street, close to Waterloo. I left myself plenty of time to find it but even though I arrived early, he was already waiting.

My heart skipped when I looked round the restaurant and saw him there. Handsome and kind. He’d taken a cosy table in semi-darkness at the back. A tea light candle burned in a glass holder. The tablecloth was starched linen. Heavy doors swished as the waiters, stout Italian men in old-fashioned uniforms, strode to and from the kitchen, releasing smells of basil and tomato and the rich aroma of simmering meat.

‘Darling.’ He kissed me on the lips, pulled out a chair and settled me beside him. He was already drinking from a bottle of Valpolicella and a waiter leaned forward to pour for me. I lifted my glass to touch his.

‘Memories of Venice,’ he said. ‘And many more holidays to come.’

I looked round. The walls were crowded with heavy black and white photographs. Italian piazzas and villages on hilltops. Pictures of small town celebrities: boxers and politicians and actors. I thought back to the first time we went out to dinner properly together, in that noisy, crowded restaurant. It wasn’t very long ago and yet it felt it. I was so nervous then and knew him so little. Now we were already a couple.

The waiter handed me a menu and I opened it. The names of the dishes were all in Italian and I smiled, trying to remember what he’d taught me in Venice.

‘Well!’ He smiled across at me. ‘Here we are again.’ He reached for my hand.

A moment later, the waiter interrupted to announce the specials and Matt ordered for us both. I asked him about work and he started telling me about his patients that week – a little boy with a heart condition and a ten-year-old just diagnosed with leukaemia. His eyes grew intense as he described their cases, giving more medical detail than I could understand.

I sat quietly as we ate and drank more than my share of the wine and let Matt do the talking. He seemed more at ease with me since Venice. More willing to trust me, to confide in me about his work. It was clear, just from hearing him, how much he cared about his patients. I let the wine loosen my limbs and gazed at him. Despite all my worries about you, about what you were doing, what Ella had given you to eat, if you were missing me, I was happy to be here with this extraordinary, loving man who doted on me.

The waiter cleared away our plates. Matt leaned forward and took my hand.

‘I missed you this week.’ He stroked my fingers. ‘How are you doing?’

I shrugged, feeling embarrassed that he had so much to tell me and I had so little.

He looked thoughtful. ‘You’re worrying about Gracie, aren’t you?’

I tried to smile. ‘Is it so obvious?’

‘It must be hard.’ He pulled back as the waiter set dessert in front of us. A rich chocolate mousse, one to share. ‘She needs time with her father.’

I nodded. Ella was the one I didn’t trust. We picked up our spoons.

‘Look.’ He pointed his spoon at me. ‘Of course you’ll worry. You’re an amazing mother. But it’ll do you both good. She needs time with Richard. And you, madam—’ he leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose ‘—you need time with me.’

When he disappeared to the toilets, I checked my phone. Nothing. I started another text to Richard – All OK? – then deleted it.

We were almost at the end of a second bottle of wine. I was flustered that evening, anxious about you, self-conscious about being out at all, and I barely remembered drinking it. The waiter leaned in, a linen napkin on his arm, and poured the last of the bottle into my glass. My fingers fumbled the glass as I lifted it and I spilt some, then mopped at the mess with my napkin, making it worse.

Matt reappeared. ‘Paid.’ He wafted away my thanks with his hand. ‘My treat.’

When I got to my feet, the table swayed. The waiter steadied my elbow as I headed towards the door. Outside, the air was cool and fresh. I stood still for a moment, feeling it on my cheeks, thinking of home and sleep.

‘Let’s not rush back.’ Matt seemed suddenly full of energy. ‘Come on. Do you know DDs?’

I shook my head. Matt, taking my arm, was already hailing a cab.

‘How often do we get the chance, Jen, really? Come on.’

DDs was a double-fronted club just off Shaftesbury Avenue. Stylishly dressed couples, some of the girls barely out of their teens, queued inside a rope. A thick-set bouncer in a tux guarded the door.

Matt winked. ‘Watch.’

He pulled out his wallet and flashed something at the bouncer, who unclipped the rope and lifted it aside for us. I hesitated before following him inside. The taxi ride had left me feeling queasy.

The club was all darkness, scored with criss-cross lines of coloured lasers. It pulsed with noise. The vibrations reached for me as soon as we entered and rose up through my legs to my stomach. Matt steered me up a short flight of steps to a low balcony and a young man in a torn T-shirt with the rippling chest and biceps of a body builder escorted us to a table with a red shaded lamp. Matt said something in his ear and he nodded and disappeared.

We settled side by side in cushioned seats and looked out across the dance floor. It was heaving with gyrating bodies. They swam in and out of the moving lights, arms high, faces sweaty, eyes stupid with alcohol or drugs or both, like some modern vision of Dante’s Inferno.

I thought at first, My God, I’m too old for this, but as my eyes started to adjust to the dark, the faces became clearer and I saw how many of the people around us were actually middle-aged or older.

The young man came back with two glasses of champagne and Matt paid at our seat with a card. He raised his glass in a toast.

‘To nights out!’

My head was already swimming with Valpolicella and I had to concentrate to wrap my clumsy fingers round the champagne flute and touch it to his without spilling it. The champagne was icy on my lips and in my throat. I took just a sip, then another, then turned back to the dance floor, focusing my eyes on a distant point as I tried to steady myself. The music throbbed inside my head.

Bubbles burst somewhere deep in my stomach and a sour trace of acid rose into my mouth. Sweat moistened my hairline. I peeled off my jacket and rolled my sleeves up. Matt drummed his fingers on the tabletop in time to the thudding music and the banging travelled along the surface and into my bones.

I tried to sit back. I wondered how soon I could ask to leave, how we could get home quickly. I thought of you. Maybe you’d woken up and were crying, calling for me, and I wouldn’t even know. Why had I had so much to drink? I shook my head and the lights flew so rapidly, I had to blink to stay upright. Perhaps it would be better if I moved, if I splashed water on my face.

I took hold of the rail that ran along the edge of the balcony and used it to hoist myself to my feet. Matt looked up and I managed a vague nod before turning and groping my way back along the narrow walkway to the entrance.

The lights in the ladies’ were dazzling after the club interior, and I stood at the sink for some time, blinking, running cold water on my wrists and dousing my face. It was a relief to escape the worst of the crashing noise. I looked ghastly, my skin sallow and my eyes unfocused.

I swayed, gripped the edge of the washbasin to stop myself from falling. Time to head home. I’d go straight back to Matt and say I was really sorry, I just didn’t feel well, it must be something I’d eaten. I nodded at my reflection and saw the pale face bob, then turned and went into a cubicle.

I sat inside with my head in my hands, trying to hold myself steady. My eyes throbbed. My hands came away slippery with sweat. I wanted the headache, the sickness, to go away and to be well again and to be with you, to hold you and see you settled in my arms, sleeping, as if you were a baby again. Safe and close.

My feet juddered on the tiled floor. I opened my eyes, braced myself against the seat and managed to get to my feet, stood for a second getting my balance before opening the door and stepping out.