‘So, is this it?’ I can’t tear my eyes away from Nick’s dad, watching the reassuring rise and fall of his ribcage. ‘Or is your mum likely to pop up too?’ There is a nastiness in my tone I don’t recognise. A blackness swelling beneath the surface.

‘Nick,’ I say sharply when he doesn’t answer. ‘Where is your mum?’

‘Mum’s dead.’ Nick drops his head into his hands and the sound of his voice cracking, the sight of him so broken, holds the darkness at bay. Despite him shattering everything I thought was real, and slicing me to the core with the splinters of the truth, I instinctively want to comfort him. But I don’t. ‘The car accident killed her.’

I am surprised. ‘The policeman who interviewed me said only Jake died?’

‘She didn’t die then. She had a stroke. It’s common after head injuries.’

‘Hence the charity?’ I try to focus on what Nick is saying. ‘Stroke Support was for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So Richard’s grandmother having a stroke? That was another lie?’ I’m hardly in a position to be judgemental but I can’t seem to help it.

‘Mum died two weeks ago.’

I feel as though I have been slapped. Out of all the things I have learned tonight it strikes me as odd that this is the one that hurts the most. All this time Nick had a mum who loved him. Who might have loved me. A family. Strangely, I don’t blame her. I feel a kinship with her. The other passenger in the crash. She must have felt the same cold, hard terror as me as our cars rushed towards each other. She wasn’t the one who lied to me.

‘She’s been alive all this time? Why didn’t you tell me about her? Why haven’t I met her?’

‘She had brain damage, hadn’t been able to speak. Didn’t even know who I was. There was little point introducing you.’

‘But still…’

‘If I had taken you to see her, you’d have wanted some sort of explanation. I didn’t want you to hate me.’ In his voice is regret and something else. Fear, perhaps.

But I can’t reassure him I don’t hate him. I don’t even know him. He is a stranger to me, this man who I promised to spend the rest of my life with. This man who snatched away my chance to have a child of my own. Bitterness stings my throat, hot and sour.

‘So who looked after your mum? Clearly, not you.’ I am consumed with the need to know everything about her: the woman who tried to protect her son.

‘She’s been in a nursing home for years. I’ve been paying for it every month.’

The bank statements. The regular payments. Not maintenance at all. ‘So, Ada’s not your daughter?’

‘Ada? Of course not. Why would you think that?’ Nick shakes his head as though nothing would surprise him.

‘But you sent Clare flowers? Your scarf was there. You’ve been seeing her?’

‘She’s been helping me arrange your surprise thirtieth party – that’s all. She’s been doing a great job. Speaking to Lisa, finding out what you’d like. It was going to have a Desperate Housewives theme; I’ve recommended her to clients as a party-planner. She’s raking it in, and it’s all cash in hand.’

‘You’ve been so distracted. I thought you were having an affair.’

‘Why would you think that? I’ve never given you any reason not to trust me…’ Nick covers his mouth with his fingertips and exhales deeply through his nostrils, as though he has realised the ridiculousness of his words.

I don’t let it drop. With the rain lashing against the window, the wind howling outside, it is the night for truth. ‘You stayed away overnight. Twice.’

‘Mum took a turn for the worse on Christmas Day. My Aunt Natasha texted me.’

‘Your aunt?’ Natasha who had plagued him with texts when we first met. She wasn’t his ex-girlfriend at all.

‘I went to see Mum. After Lisa had her miscarriage, and you took off, I took the opportunity to go to Farncaster, to the nursing home. I didn’t even recognise her. My own mother.’ Nick’s voice is thick with tears. ‘I had to go back to reception to check I had the right room.’ He starts to cry again, and my emotions fight inside me as the urge to soothe him is tempered by the knowledge of the irrecoverable damage he has done to me. To us.

‘The receipt in the laundry basket,’ I say, almost to myself. I knew there was something wrong but I couldn’t put my finger on what. The café I went to was called The Coffee House not The Farncaster Bean Café. The receipt was Nick’s.

‘So the business was never in trouble?’

‘No. Sorry. I didn’t know what else to say to explain going away.’

‘I thought you were having an affair, you know.’

‘I would never do that to you!’ Nick looks so outraged I almost want to laugh. Does he really think sleeping with someone else is the ultimate betrayal?

‘I wanted to tell you when Mum died. I needed you with me at the funeral but I didn’t know what to say without more lies. I’m so tired of keeping things hidden.’

‘The second time you went away? Was that the funeral?’

‘Yes. Natasha insisted on arranging it. She wouldn’t let me pay either, but it was my responsibility, wasn’t it? I left her an envelope of cash.’

‘You took the money from the safe?’

‘Yes.’

I think of what I found instead of the money I was looking for.

‘The teddy? The ring?’

‘The bear was mine. Teddy Edward.’ A ghost of a smile passes Nick’s lips. ‘The ring was Mum’s. It was my grandmother’s first. We can pass it down. If it’s a girl. If you still want…’ Nick smacks his forehead with his palm. ‘Stupid. Of course you won’t want me now,’ he says, and yet, there is hope in his eyes as he looks at me.

I don’t tell him I still want him. I can’t.

There’s a groan from Nick’s dad. A shift in position. I think he’s coming round.

‘Natasha told him about the funeral.’ Nick jerks his head towards his dad. ‘She said she felt he had a right to know but told him he wasn’t welcome to come. He caught me coming out of the office yesterday. Said he left the wreath on our doorstep on the day of the service, thinking I’d take it, but I’d already left. As if a fucking wreath can make up for the years of misery he caused Mum.’

‘The wreath was never for me?’ All along I’d thought Lisa was out for revenge. Or her parents. Even my mum, after I’d stopped outside my old house and seen the twitch of the curtains. Imagined her behind them. Had I really got everything so wrong?

‘Kevin. Him.’ Nick shoots lasers at his dad. ‘Said he’s spent years wanting to get in touch, but didn’t know how, until Mum took a turn for the worse and someone from the nursing home passed on our landline and our address. He told me he’s been ringing here.’

‘But he hung up when I answered.’ I fill in the gaps.

‘He was waiting for me to pick up. He came to the house a few times; probably only when he was drunk and feeling guilty, He was too cowardly to tell you who he was.’

‘He must have been the one looking through the window. Watching me sleep.’

‘He was hoping to see me.’

‘He sent the book? How to Cope with Death. I thought it was because of the anniversary of Jake’s death, or Dad’s death. I thought someone…’

‘I ordered that – did it come? I’ve been struggling.’ Nick seems to shrink before my eyes. ‘I dream of Mum every night. The way she always read me a bedtime story, no matter how late she came home. Turning the pages with hands red raw with cleaning. Always smelling of bleach. I can’t believe she’s gone.’

The book was for Nick. The label on the package had been damp with rain and peeling. Only our surname and address visible. I had assumed it was sent to me. I had assumed too much.

Nick rubs his eyes with his sleeve. ‘Dad said he was sorry for everything but it’s too late, isn’t it?’ It’s a statement not a question. ‘He shouldn’t have come here. It’s all his fault.’

I look at Nick’s dad lying prone on the floor and wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t hurt his back. Lost his job. The different paths we would all have taken. Jake might still be here. We might be a happy family of three, or four. It’s almost incomprehensible how the actions of a complete stranger have shaped my life. The butterfly effect. A flutter is all it takes. So many lives ruined. Mine included.

‘Did you ever want a family, Nick, or were you trying to replace what I’d lost?’ My throat stings as I swallow my bitterness. ‘What you took from me.’

‘Of course I do. It was awful seeing you hurt when the adoptions fell through. I felt so powerless. So responsible.’

‘If we’d tried to adopt here…’ I can’t help thinking it would have been different somehow.

‘Kat. There was so much red tape adopting from another country but at least it was only Richard filling out the paperwork and us signing it. In the UK, with the face-to-face interviews you have to go through, the home visits, it was inevitable you’d become aware I’d been charged with ABH and, to be honest, after we visited the orphanage that time, and met Dewei, I couldn’t imagine not giving a child from that sort of background a home.’

I nod. The first thing I have agreed with. I still feel the weight of Dewei’s loss in my heart, his heaviness in my arms. I still remember row upon row of cots cramped into one tiny room. The endless crying. The smell of faeces and despair.

‘I was gutted when Dewei went to another family. After Mai… it was almost too much to bear. I decided we’d be better off trying to adopt in the UK after all. I was going to tell you I had a criminal record, but then you suggested surrogacy and it seemed, well, it seemed like the better option and it’s working okay, isn’t it?’

Ignoring his question, I drift back to our celebratory dinner at The Fox and Hounds. Giddy with champagne and hope. It all seemed so long ago.

‘Did Richard sabotage the adoptions?’

‘God, no. He fought really hard. He offered some of his own money to try and get Dewei here. He does care about us, you know. He’s just always been wary of me being with you, of the past coming back. He’d lied to the police, don’t forget, told them he’d lent the car to Mum that night and she was alone.’

The ripples of deceit spread.

‘When you told me Lisa was Jake’s brother, he was deeply unhappy with the connection. That day we all had lunch, he talked to Lisa in the garden, accused her of being a gold-digger. Ordered her to stay away from us until she went into labour or he’d stop the extra payments. He didn’t want… I’m so sorry. I know how much you wanted to be involved with the pregnancy.’

‘There is no pregnancy,’ I say harshly, and I see the hurt in Nick’s eyes and realise how much he wanted this too. ‘You’d better come with me.’

‘Where?—’

But I don’t answer.

Nick trails me into the hall. I open the door of the basement. It is gloomy. Silent.

‘I don’t understand?…’

‘Shhh,’ I say. Fear grips me, and I can’t put a finger on why but I can almost sense something has happened to Lisa. Without thinking, I hurry down the stairs and must be about halfway down when I lose my footing and slip. A blood-curdling scream full of pain fills the air. But my lips are clamped together.

It isn’t me who has screamed.