When Shaun arrives at the house, he takes great interest in the hallway, and generally glancing all around as he walks into the kitchen.

It occurs to me he’s calculating what needs to be done in order to get the place fully saleable.

‘Just as you left it,’ I remark, letting him know I’ve noticed.

He smiles bashfully. ‘Of course. I was just thinking what a big place it is. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about? It sounded urgent.’

‘I’ll get to that in a minute.’

We walk into the kitchen and I realise I’ve left the curtains and blind drawn.

‘Had a migraine and shut all the light out?’ he quips.

‘No. I thought…’

He stares at me, waiting.

‘I thought I saw someone in the garden earlier.’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Em.’ He sniffs. ‘Some things never change, eh?’

It’s a jibe, a slur. He doesn’t believe a word I say any more, but I force his comment out of my mind. There are more important things at stake here.

I make two coffees and take them over to the seating area.

‘Maisie is upstairs in her room. I can call her down if you like; I didn’t know if you wanted to talk first.’

‘That would be good.’ He nods. ‘I wanted to discuss a few things, but firstly, the house.’

‘What about it?’ I say sharply. ‘Surely we both agree that Maisie needs all the stability she can get right now. First you leave, and now… well, I know you wouldn’t want to sell up. You wouldn’t do that to her.’

‘It’s a big place, Em,’ he sighs. ‘Far too big for the two of you, and then there are the bills associated with a large house: council tax, heating. The list goes on.’

‘So you want to sell because you’re worried about my bills?’

‘Well, I am paying half of them,’ he states tartly.

‘But nobody asked you to leave.’

‘Emma!’ he snaps, and then gathers himself, softening his voice. ‘I don’t want this to be a slanging match. I just need to tell you that things are changing, and this is one of them. I want to sell the house.’

‘Well. It’s nice of you to tell me, but actually, I already knew.’

He blinks at me.

‘Maisie overheard Joanne telling one of the other mums at dancing. She was crowing about your new place having five bedrooms and a big garden with a stream running through it.’

‘Shit.’

‘Shit is right. That’s how it made our daughter feel.’

‘I can understand that. I’ll certainly speak to Maisie about it.’

‘Maybe you should speak to your girlfriend, too. Tell her to keep her mouth shut in public places… if she can resist bragging about her wonderful new life.’

I’d like to ask why he even needs money from the sale of this house. Joanne has enough funds to buy it outright, I’m sure. But I know the answer; she wants to see commitment from him, wants to cut me out of his financial responsibilities completely.

‘Point taken,’ Shaun says quietly. ‘Listen, before I pop up and see Maisie, there are a couple of boxes I want up in the loft. Just photographs I took that I need for my new portfolio. Is it OK if I—’

‘Take what you want,’ I say curtly.

He empties his pockets out on the kitchen worktop and leaves the room. I hear him pad softly upstairs and push the loft trapdoor open, a light rumble as he pulls down the ladder.

I pick up our cups and take them over to the sink.

He’ll want my agreement to sell the house, but I won’t give it. Not today. Why the hell should I make it easy for them?

Yet deep down, I know selling up is best all round. Although Shaun pays half the bills, in reality, I know before long, I’ll struggle on my own. If I could cut my outgoings, and I had a bit of money behind me from the sale of the house, I would perhaps feel less vulnerable financially.

Maisie and I could get one of those new compact eco-houses a few streets away from the embankment. Or even a neat two-bed apartment in the new Trent Basin development.

The idea of a new home feels good. Positive, in a way. Perhaps it’s the fresh start Maisie needs to get back on track and find herself again.

But I’ve no intention telling Shaun my thoughts for a day or two at least.

I load our dirty cups into the dishwasher and walk over to the seats again, pausing to run my fingertip over Shaun’s smooth black leather Hugo Boss wallet that I splashed out on for Christmas last year.

It’s ludicrous how pleased I feel that he’s still using it. It’s like I’ve scored a point over Joanne, somehow.

He’s left his car keys here too. A tiny Perspex box full of coloured mints, his late grandad’s penknife that, when opened out, has every tool you could ever need, and he’s left something else.

Two Yale door keys complete with a little plastic tab. Handwritten on the white label is: Linby House.

The keys to Joanne’s apartment.