Five

An ominous note poked out of Olivia’s pigeonhole. A4 paper folded into quarters; no envelope. She waited a moment before she opened it. Martin Rutherford requesting a meeting, his office, three o’clock tomorrow. Oh God. This would be about Ruth. Olivia felt physically sick – a horrible swirling sensation that she could taste – but then realised she couldn’t make the meeting anyway. Peter Havant had asked her to accompany him on a geography trip to Cheddar Gorge. They would be out most of the day, exploring giant caves, clambering up steep footpaths, feasting on cheese. That was how he had sold it to her, although he didn’t need to. She loved taking Edward and his friends to Cheddar Gorge. It had featured as a day trip in almost every school holiday. Happy memories, she reminded herself as an antidote to the unhappiness that had begun to close in on her.

When she had first arrived at St Bede’s, learning the job, getting to know the girls, the staff and the school regime had absorbed her. She hadn’t had much time to dwell on losing Downings or Manor Farm, or how Geoffrey could have allowed that to happen. He had introduced her to a standard of living far beyond anything she knew or expected, and once she had allowed herself to relax and enjoy it, he took it all away.

Now that she had settled in, although she was still busy (very much so), that overwhelming sense of newness had worn off, allowing more time to dwell on everything she missed. And while she longed for the comfort of Manor Farm, it wasn’t material loss that predominated, it was leisurely dog walks with Lorna, getting tipsy at book club, a long soak in the bath with a glass of wine. Hardest of all was being virtually incommunicado.

Olivia was a talker. Before her parents had left for Sydney, she spoke to her mum every night and her dad and Sam at least once a week. She and Lorna were used to sharing thoughts and occurrences at various points throughout the day and Olivia called a handful of old schoolfriends once or twice a month. She chatted to everyone she bumped into in the village, was on first-name terms with the postman, the receptionists at the doctor’s surgery, the dentist and the vet. Now, when she managed to log on to Facebook and saw that her friends’ lives carried on quite happily without her, Olivia felt even more aggrieved than when the Wi-Fi was down and she couldn’t log on at all.

Keeping things bottled up was completely alien to her. She believed the reason she had struggled after Edward was born wasn’t because of postnatal depression – helpfully diagnosed by Rowena and confided in hushed tones to anyone who asked after her – but because the harsh winter had stopped her getting out and about. Impossible to push a buggy through a foot of snow. Lorna popping round out of the blue that first afternoon had saved her. Olivia missed her terribly. Snatched phone calls from the quad weren’t the same as their long, impromptu ramblings about everything and nothing. Nor did they help remove the splinter embedded in the skin of their friendship; Olivia sworn to keep Johnny’s secret, Lorna frustrated by their dogged insistence nothing was wrong when instinct told her that there was.

And then Olivia had left for St Bede’s. Talking was the oxygen of their friendship; necessary at all times. The network dead zone had starved them of oxygen.

‘Something interesting?’

Lisa Pearce peered over Olivia’s shoulder at the contents of the note, prompting Olivia to fold it up again and put it her bag.

‘Something about the Christmas newsletter,’ she said, unsure how much Lisa had seen.

The bell rang, giving Olivia an excuse to rush off.

Silly that she felt so nervous about seeing Martin. She was a grown woman, for goodness’ sake, and hadn’t done anything wrong. But when she thought about the lies Ruth could have fabricated, her heart quickened to the point of pain. And how could Olivia defend herself without telling him the truth? Ruth certainly didn’t deserve her silence but Olivia wanted no part in destroying the Rutherfords’ marriage; their family. What would that do to the girls? No, irrespective of the consequences for herself, Olivia couldn’t tell Martin what had really happened in the cricket pavilion.

Claire Heather passed her in the corridor, laden down with school brochures. She had been a regular visitor at the Rectory over the years, particularly in the weeks following Ronald’s death. Claire’s husband, Arthur, died of a heart attack too, a year before he had been due to retire from Downings. Geoffrey had never taken to him. He thought him ‘shifty’ – not the most inspiring quality in a bookkeeper – but with his wife being one of his mother’s closest friends, and Arthur having worked at the factory for over twenty years, there wasn’t much he could do about it. When they compared notes, both Geoffrey and Olivia agreed that the Heathers didn’t like them. Arthur let it be known he thought Geoffrey was an ‘upstart’ and Olivia felt disapproved of by Claire, although without any hard supporting evidence. Olivia’s suspicion resided in the appraising way Claire looked at her, in the impression of stilted tolerance. Olivia often wondered what Rowena said about her over tea and scones at the Rectory, but then remembered her mother’s wise words. If you worried what people thought of you, you’d never leave the house.

‘Is the headmaster in?’ asked Olivia.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘Tomorrow, but I’m on a field trip with Mr Havant, so I need to rearrange.’

‘Right. Well, if you wouldn’t mind waiting, I just need to drop these off.’

Olivia went along to the anteroom which led to Martin’s office, aware that she was due to listen to the first-formers read in twenty minutes so couldn’t hang around. She was about to write a note, explaining, when Martin’s door opened.

‘Olivia?’ he said, looking around. ‘No Mrs Heather?’

‘She popped out with some brochures.’

‘Is there something I can help you with?’

‘I need to reschedule our meeting. Mr Havant has asked me to go on a field trip to Cheddar Gorge.’

‘Oh yes. Alice and Maisie are going.’ He checked his wristwatch; old-fashioned with a flat gold-rimmed face and worn leather strap. ‘I’m free now if you are?’

The knot in her stomach twisted a little tighter. ‘I’m supposed to be hearing the first-formers read.’

Claire Heather bustled in, dismayed to see an arrangement being made without her intervention.

Martin addressed her directly. ‘Would you make Olivia’s excuses to—?’ He looked to Olivia to fill in the name.

‘Mrs Roache.’

‘Mrs Roache,’ continued Martin. ‘And hold my calls, please, if you would.’

He stood to one side and gestured for Olivia to enter his office.

‘Please sit,’ he said, pointing to the chair on the other side of his desk.

A gilt-framed photograph of Ruth and the girls took pride of place. Olivia crossed her legs and tidied her hands in her lap. Her heart felt too big for her chest as she waited for Martin to speak.

‘This is rather difficult,’ he said.

He put his forefinger to his lip, his thumb on his chin, and frowned. ‘It’s been brought to my attention that you and Mr Dubois had,’ he paused, squirmed a little in his chair – ‘a liaison in the cricket pavilion.’

So she had been right about Ruth’s tactics. How dare she put her in this position. Olivia feared Martin would interpret the rising colour on her face and neck as guilt, when really it was anger.

‘Would you care to comment?’ he said.

‘It was completely innocent. We did go to the cricket pavilion, to talk about Edward. Mr Dubois and I bumped into each other outside while trying to get some signal on our phones, and I took the opportunity to explore options about Edward’s French. He’s fallen a bit behind this term.’

Martin nodded, his forehead creased.

‘I see. And did you?’

‘Did we what?’

‘Explore options about Edward’s French.’

Olivia uncrossed her legs and then crossed them in the other direction. ‘No.’

‘Why not?’

She looked at the photograph again – carefree girls, smiling parents, something green and very English about the background – to underscore the reason she couldn’t tell the truth.

‘Mr Dubois remembered an appointment,’ she said, hearing how feeble it sounded.

Martin leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on the desk. ‘It has also been reported to me that a man’s voice was heard coming from your quarters. You do realise it’s strictly against school rules to entertain men, don’t you?’

Men? What did he take her for? And who had done the reporting? Did Ruth have someone watching her, spying on her? Only when she exhaled did she realise she had been holding her breath.

‘It was Geoffrey. He arrived early for Edward’s match and there was a matter we needed to discuss. A private matter.’

Martin nodded. ‘Ah, yes, I remember seeing him. We spoke briefly in the quad.’

Thank goodness. Even so, she had broken the rules so apologised, insisting it was an isolated incident and wouldn’t happen again. Martin took off his glasses, produced a folded handkerchief from his pocket and gave each lens a good wipe. When he spoke, his tone was rather less formal than before.

‘Look, Olivia, I’m very pleased with how you’ve settled in and I know that as well as all your good work with the boarders, you muck in and help out whenever you can.’ He put his glasses back on and folded the handkerchief into a neat square. ‘So on this occasion I’m willing to overlook any indiscretion on your part.’

Olivia opened her mouth to protest but Martin raised a hand to stop her.

‘As long as I have your absolute assurance there will be no further cause for concern. We are, first and foremost, a Christian school, governed and guided by the Christian ethos.’

He paused again in a way that made it clear the meeting was about to come to a close. No. Olivia could not – would not – leave that room with Martin believing she had behaved in some sleazy, un-Christian way.

‘Headmaster.’ Her tone was calm but firm and she looked him in the eye. ‘I accept I may have made an error of judgement going to the cricket pavilion with Mr Dubois, and another when I spoke with Geoffrey in my flat, but I can absolutely assure you, I am not guilty of any indiscretion.’

For the avoidance of doubt, she had copied Martin’s very deliberate inflection.

‘So your relationship with Mr Dubois is purely professional?’

‘In so much as I have a relationship with Mr Dubois, yes, it is purely professional. We’ve only spoken on a handful of occasions.’

This seemed to satisfy him.

‘Good.’ He stood up and took a few long strides to the door.

‘Listen,’ he said, his hand on the doorknob. ‘Ruth is having an Alpha meeting at the house this afternoon – her first; a bit nervous I daresay. I know she’d feel a lot better if you could go along.’

Olivia intended to avoid Ruth at all costs, not sit meekly while she offered instruction on Christianity and the Bible. Such staggering hypocrisy. Olivia was barely able to contain her contempt for the woman. Was Martin really that much of a dolt? Did he not know his wife at all? Olivia needed to breathe some fresh, clean air.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.

It was his parting shot that left her speechless. ‘She really is very fond of you, you know.’

*

Olivia relived the whole humiliating episode with Geoffrey that night as she shivered in the quad. She wasn’t supposed to leave her post, even when the boarders were tucked up in bed, but Matron said she’d keep an eye on them for ten minutes.

Olivia tried to explain how being gossiped about had induced a horrible sense of injustice and isolation. She didn’t know who she could trust. The staff would believe the headmaster’s wife and even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be foolish enough to say so. Ditto with the mothers. Lisa Pearce told her the Alpha meeting had been well attended – a chance to curry favour with the headmaster’s wife.

They were a tight-knit group, the St Bede’s mothers – a coterie, Geoffrey called them – and Ruth’s status put her at its centre. Olivia’s status was less clear-cut. She was a St Bede’s mother herself, of course, but now she was a houseparent too – an employee. That was a game changer; another one of Geoffrey’s expressions. It was common knowledge they had lost their business and their home. A few of the mothers referred to their change of fortunes directly, but most commiserations took the form of a brave smile, a well-meaning squeeze of the arm, and, on one notable and humiliating occasion, a pledge to offer up prayer.

When Edward had started at St Bede’s – pre-prep, four years old, adorable in his uniform – the other mothers mistook Olivia for an au pair. It made her feel very proud to tell them Edward was her son. The surprise on their faces spoke volumes. She could almost see them calculating how old she must have been when she had him. A teenager? Actually she had been twenty-one, at least a decade younger than the average St Bede’s mother. Many of them had gone to university, had careers, become established before they started families. That Olivia had done none of these things rather set her apart. It didn’t help that she was petite and pretty with abundant straw-coloured hair that tumbled down her back in soft, lustrous waves. St Bede’s was not a yummy-mummy type of school. It was small and rural and devoutly Christian.

In an effort to fit in, Olivia had joined the weekly Alpha classes run by Teddy Clarke-Bowen’s wife, Caroline. Olivia’s parents weren’t religious and she had only become a churchgoer when she moved to Compton Cross. Ronald had delivered wonderful sermons, full of love and hope. He didn’t dwell on the darkness in people, the demons that drove them to sin. Ronald believed more in forgiveness than judgement: in God’s mercy, not his wrath. How sad that his determination to see only the good in people had caused so much suffering. When Olivia thought about what had happened to Johnny, it made her sick to her stomach. She had begged him to tell Lorna, or to let her tell Lorna, but he was adamant no one must ever know.

It was hard for Olivia to go to church after that. She had never been sure she believed in God, but she did believe in being decent, helping others, telling the truth, or a version of the truth that did the least damage. That her personal values were also Christian values was a happy coincidence. It placed her firmly within the ethos of St Bede’s, irrespective of her theological beliefs. At Alpha she had learned about Jesus and the Bible, and over Sunday lunch at the Rectory, she and Ronald had enjoyed many a spirited discussion. He was patient with her questions, explained the things she didn’t understand. She wished he were here now. He would have known what she should do, other than keep your head down – Geoffrey’s only piece of advice.

It was a terrible line, crackly and distant, as though they were in a tunnel or underwater.

‘What do you think your father would have said?’ asked Olivia.

‘Turn the other cheek?’ said Geoffrey uncertainly.

No help at all. She looked up when a light went on in the dorm.

‘Sorry – I have to go.’

She let herself in, locked the main door behind her and ran up the stairs, two at a time. Matron was squatting by Alice Rutherford’s bedside, talking to her quietly. Olivia slipped off her coat and went over to relieve her.

‘Sorry,’ she whispered, touching Matron on the shoulder.

She stood up. ‘Maisie came to get me. Alice was crying.’

‘Thanks,’ said Olivia. ‘I’ll stay with her.’

Alice had her thumb in her mouth. Edward had abandoned thumb-sucking a few months before his third birthday. Alice was nine.

‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’

Her eyelids were heavy with crying and sleep. She didn’t reply. Olivia thought it best to leave her alone to drift off again. She pulled the duvet over her shoulder and said goodnight. The poor child needed so much more than a houseparent could give her.

*

It wasn’t just Alice Rutherford who had a bad night. Each time Olivia felt herself falling towards sleep, some flashback from her meeting with Martin leapt into her head and she was wide awake again, her heart tangoing in her chest. Obsessively checking the time only made it worse. Nothing ensured a bad night’s sleep like fretting about a bad night’s sleep. At six o’clock she admitted defeat, got up and started the day.

During her second cup of staffroom coffee – instant, black, two sugars for energy – Hugo Dubois walked in. Did she imagine a momentary lull in conversation, glances in her general direction? She sipped her coffee and flicked through the new school brochure: smiling children playing musical instruments, running round sports fields, relaxed and happy in their dorms.

‘Madame Parry.’

Hugo approached her, nursing his own cup of coffee. He clearly hadn’t been briefed about appropriate styles of address. In her peripheral vision, Olivia noticed Lisa Pearce watching them.

‘Morning,’ she said, not quite hitting the casual note she was aiming for.

That was when it occurred to her that Martin would want to see Hugo too. She had to warn him, make sure his account of events matched hers. Not here, though, not in front of prying eyes.

‘Have you seen the new school brochure?’ she said cheerily and a little too loudly.

Hugo made no effort to disguise his complete lack of interest.

She lowered her voice. ‘Are you free for five minutes at morning break? There’s something we need to talk about.’

He took a sip of coffee and grimaced. Presumably he was used to something rather better than Nescafé.

‘Of course.’

Lisa Pearce had sidled into earshot. Where to meet posed a dilemma for Olivia. If she suggested somewhere discreet, it would give the impression of being furtive, of having something to hide. But meeting openly would only further fuel the gossip and make it difficult to discuss the delicate topic of Ruth Rutherford. Olivia was wrestling with this when Hugo suggested the French room, which made perfect sense. She still needed to sort out some holiday work for Edward.

‘Break time,’ she said. ‘Oh, and it’s Olivia when there are no pupils present.’

With a quick smile at Lisa Pearce, Olivia took her coffee and left.

*

The French room was just a classroom with pictures of France on the walls. Hugo sat marking a pile of exercise books, but stood when Olivia walked in. He sported a pair of Harry Potter style spectacles. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but they actually made him look more attractive. His cologne scented the air: floral and musky at the same time. She sat down on one of the child-sized chairs and crossed her legs.

‘Thank you for meeting me,’ she said. ‘I thought you should know that the headmaster spoke to me yesterday. There are rumours about you and me.’ She hated the way she blushed. ‘I think his wife is trying to get me sacked.’

‘Sacked?’

‘Lose my job.’

He frowned. ‘But you do nothing wrong.’

Olivia shrugged to confirm the point. She needed to remember that she was the innocent party here. The injured party, in fact.

‘Anyway,’ she continued. ‘I told him we bumped into each other and went to the cricket pavilion to discuss Edward’s French.’

‘It’s true.’

‘Yes, but I didn’t tell him what we saw in the cricket pavilion.’

This time it was Hugo who shrugged.

‘It would be very damaging for his marriage, his family,’ explained Olivia. ‘And for the school,’ she added, suddenly envisaging a plethora of salacious tabloid headlines if word got out. The gutter press had had no compunction about trying to destroy the school’s reputation when Freddie Burton’s prank went so disastrously wrong. It might not survive another scandal.

‘I hear these rumours too,’ said Hugo.

Olivia shifted her weight. Pressed against the hard wooden seat, her buttocks had started to go numb.

‘You have? When?’

‘Rugby. The other boys tease Edward.’ He waved the comment away. ‘It was nothing.’

‘Nothing? You think that was nothing? Oh God, poor Edward. I have to speak to him. I can’t believe it’s gone this far.’

She cupped her hands over her mouth.

‘Madame Parry,’ said Hugo softly, clearly concerned he had upset her. ‘Olivia,’ he corrected. ‘In France these things are de rigueur.’

Olivia stared at him, perplexed. He looked heavenwards, eyebrows knitted together, trying to pluck the correct word from his limited vocabulary.

‘Acceptable,’ he said.

He just didn’t get it. Despite his apparent sophistication, he was obviously too young to understand the gravity of the situation. She needed to impress upon him exactly what was at stake.

‘But we’re not in France. We’re in Somerset, and a married houseparent having an affair with an exchange student is most certainly not de rigueur. Nor is the headmaster’s wife and her toy boy.’

The bell rang for end of break. Hugo clearly didn’t understand the ‘toy boy’ reference, but in a few minutes children would file in for their lesson, Olivia would head off to Cheddar Gorge and she really didn’t have time to explain. She needed to talk to Edward too, but there was no time for that either.

‘Thank you, Madame Parry,’ he said.

For what? The whole thing was a horrible mess.

*

Olivia cringed as she knocked on Matron’s door. She didn’t want her to think she was taking advantage, but she had to see Edward. The girls were in their pyjamas, glued to Finding Nemo, and she promised she wouldn’t be long.

‘Getting to be something of a habit,’ Matron said, half joking, half not.

‘I know. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.’

‘You look tired, Olivia. Is everything all right?’

‘Long day.’

‘It’s not just the girls you have to take care of, it’s yourself too.’

The unexpected sense of being mothered caught Olivia totally off guard. It was her job to mother others; her job to be strong. Through nothing but good intentions, Matron had reminded Olivia that her mum was on the other side of the world. Falling apart felt like a very real possibility, and then where would she be? She turned to walk away.

‘Oh, and Olivia.’

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Harriet.’

*

Only thirty minutes until lights out. Olivia made her way over to the boys’ dorm in the other wing, the corridors deserted and dimly lit. Pain throbbed behind her eyes. As if she hadn’t been stressed enough, the field trip had been a nightmare. Alice Rutherford had clung to her, marsupial-like, her thumb in her mouth. Olivia should really air her concerns with Martin and Ruth but couldn’t face seeing them together. Bad enough seeing one or the other, but both at the same time was a sickening thought.

Alice had been utterly terrified when the tour guide explained that the cave they were standing in was home to the British cave spider – one of the largest spiders in the British Isles – and a colony of rare lesser horseshoe bats. If you look carefully, you can see the bats flitting around. Alice grabbed on to Olivia and screamed, convinced she could feel spiders crawling on her legs. She kept swatting at them, her little hands flailing desperately in the gloom. Alice set off Helena Hardy-Leach, who sobbed that she didn’t like bats and made a run for the exit. Peter Havant caught her but by this time mass hysteria threatened to take hold, so they cut the tour short and herded the children outside.

It took Olivia and Peter the best part of an hour to calm them all down. The weight of responsibility was daunting. One of the boys got an asthma attack as they climbed the steep path to the rim of the gorge. Peter waited with him, leaving Olivia to take the rest of the children – usually so well behaved, now hyper and unruly – to the top. She counted heads obsessively, fearful a child would wander off and get lost. Her requests to walk in single file on the descent were largely ignored. The boys thought it great sport to charge ahead and see how far they could get before they tumbled over. One of them cut his knees and tore the side of blazer. Olivia had never been so relieved to get back to school. She couldn’t wait to shower and collapse into bed, but first of all she had to see Edward: her own child, her first responsibility. So what if the other boys made a fuss – this was more important than a bit of harmless teasing.

The boarders were sprawled on beanbags and sofas, watching some sort of wildlife programme. When Leo Sheridan spotted her he came out into the corridor.

‘I’m glad you’ve dropped by. I was going to ask for a quick word about Edward.’

‘He’s all right, isn’t he?’

Leo glanced into the dorm before he pulled the door shut.

Olivia had resisted the idea of Edward boarding at first (selfishly, she wanted to spare herself the pain of missing him), but Geoffrey said day boys were disadvantaged as seniors – never made head boy or prefects or sports captains. Those roles always went to boarders; that’s why their numbers swelled in the final years of prep school. It prepared them for public school as well: fostered independence, self-confidence. All these points had some merit but it was Geoffrey’s final point that had settled it. And anyway, he wants to board. Edward had confided this bombshell to his father so as not to upset his mother. How could she argue?

But before Olivia relinquished term-time care of her only child, she wanted to know more about the man who would be responsible for him. As well as being the school’s senior houseparent, reluctant rugby coach – a task happily delegated to Hugo Dubois – and head of music and drama, it was rumoured that Leo had harboured ambitions to become a concert pianist but was too crippled by stage fright to pursue his dream. At school he always seemed so unflappable. Out of curiosity Olivia had googled him. Leo Bryce Sheridan, born March 1978, studied music at the Guildhall and the Birmingham Conservatoire. There was a picture of him before he lost all the hair from the crown of his head. How handsome he looked in his dinner suit and bow tie. She wondered how he felt accompanying the St Bede’s choir rather than playing to an admiring audience at the Festival Hall. If he was crushed with disappointment, he hid it well.

‘Nothing to be concerned about,’ said Leo quietly. ‘It’s just some of the other boys have been giving Edward a bit of a hard time.’

Olivia felt her scalp tighten, sharpening the pain in her head.

‘Apparently he took exception to a comment Freddie Burton made after rugby training. Some nonsense about you and Hugo Dubois. Just thought I should let you know.’

Freddie Burton? He could only have heard the rumour about her and Hugo (overheard it – surely she wouldn’t discuss it with him directly?) from his mother, Alicia. Olivia didn’t know her well, even though Edward and Freddie had been at school together since pre-prep. Alicia Burton always appeared suspiciously strategic in her friendships, and Olivia, it seemed, wasn’t important enough to warrant favour. Geoffrey had a different theory. He said the reason Alicia was cool towards her was because Olivia was younger and prettier and Toby Burton had a roving eye. Maybe Geoffrey was right and that was part of it too.

But then Olivia had rescued Freddie from his changing-room stunt and Alicia appeared after chapel one morning with a beautiful hand-tied bouquet, and asked if there was somewhere they could talk. She looked as though she hadn’t slept for a month. Over staffroom coffee she confided that Freddie had taken it badly when his father left and doing stupid things to get attention was his way of acting out. ‘If you hadn’t found him—’ She brought her hand to her mouth, unable to finish the sentence. Olivia’s heart went out to her and she felt sure a bond had been forged, that from now on, she and Alicia would be friends.

Not so. Olivia hadn’t seen or heard anything of her since that morning, although according to Lisa Pearce, she could always be found ‘sucking up’ to Ruth Rutherford whenever the opportunity arose. Alicia brought cakes and flowers to the Alpha meeting Olivia hadn’t gone to, and stayed afterwards to help Ruth clear up. And now Freddie was baiting Edward with comments about her and Hugo. It appeared that Olivia had been right about Alicia Burton all along.

‘I appreciate it,’ said Olivia. ‘That’s why I wanted to see him – make sure he’s OK.’

‘He’s been a bit quiet this evening,’ said Leo. ‘I’m sure it will all be forgotten tomorrow.’

‘Can I see him?’

‘Of course. Wait here and I’ll get him for you.’

Despite the trouble it had caused, Olivia felt proud that Edward had leaped to her defence. He certainly hadn’t learned by example. Thirteen years of marriage and Olivia was still waiting for Geoffrey to do the same. His excuse was that Rowena attacked by stealth, never open confrontation, making defence difficult to pull off. They had hashed over the same argument so many times Olivia accepted that in this regard, her husband was destined to disappoint.

‘Mum?’

Edward wore his old grey tracksuit, the one he mooched around the house in when he was under the weather. It looked a bit too small. She went to hug him but he took a step back.

‘Mum,’ he said again, a whine of disapproval now in his voice.

No public displays of affection. Got it.

‘Sorry,’ she said, putting her hands by her sides. ‘I forgot. Look, I know you had a bit of an upset today and I just wanted to make sure you were all right.’

He looked her in the eye, unblinking. It was a moment before he nodded.

‘Good,’ she said, pushing her hands into her trouser pockets so she wouldn’t weaken and try to hug him. ‘I’m sorry you’re having a hard time.’

A peal of laughter rang out from the dorm.

‘I should go,’ said Edward. He made a move towards the door.

‘Of course. Night, darling. Sleep well.’

He hesitated for a second before he came back and squeezed his arms round her. A surge of love erupted in Olivia’s chest and she had to turn away quickly so he wouldn’t see the hot rush of tears.