Their polite exchange at any other time would be so satisfying to see. Not now, though. Now it’s like they’ve teamed up as a last resort . . . to deal with the fragile waif. I can’t help the wave of resentment I feel. This is just a show. They’re not being courteous because they know it’s what I would really love, for them both to be friendly and actually like each other. They’re acting like this for fear of tipping me over the edge.

Gregory approaches and pulls me into a hug that I struggle to return. I suddenly really do feel fragile. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, baby girl.’

I nod and break out of his hold. ‘I’ll see you out.’

‘OK.’ His reply is drawn out, and he moves to the kitchen door, raising his hand to Miller in goodbye.

I don’t see Miller’s response, or whether any more exchanges are passed because I’m halfway up the hallway.

‘She’s a firecracker!’ George laughs, and I look up to see him plodding down the stairs. ‘But exhausted. I’ve left her to have a kip.’

‘Are you going, George?’

‘Yes, but I’ll be back tomorrow at noon sharp. I have my orders.’ He reaches the bottom of the stairs on a huff, his big chest pulsing from the exertion. ‘You look after her,’ he says, giving my shoulder a little squeeze.

‘I’ll take you home, George.’ Gregory appears, waving his keys. ‘As long as you don’t mind sharing a seat with a few tools.’

‘Ha! I shared space with far less desirable things during the war, lad.’

Gregory passes me on a strained smile and opens the door for George. ‘You can tell me all about it on the way home.’

‘It’ll make your toes curl!’

They’re both off up the garden path, George rabbiting about his war days, Gregory laughing tightly every now and then in response. I close the door, shut the world outside, but soon realise that I can’t shut my mind down. I’m fooling myself. Being here, smelling our house, knowing Nan is safe upstairs and Miller is floating around in all of his perfection, isn’t working as I’d hoped. Nan’s shockingly accurate conclusion has only added to it.

The distant ring of my mobile makes me moan, and I make no rush to go in search of it. Anyone who I would like to talk to is either here or just this moment left. I pad back to the kitchen, finding no Miller. Locating my bag, I rummage through it until I find the source of the persistent sound. I hit Reject and notice six missed calls, all from William. I turn it off and toss it to the side, glowering at it.

Then I go in search of Miller. I find him in the lounge, seated on the edge of the couch. He has a book in his hands. A black book. And he’s engrossed in the pages.

‘Miller!’

He visibly jumps and the book snaps shut as I hurry over and swipe it from his hand. ‘Where did you get this?’ I ask angrily, holding it behind my back, hiding it . . . ashamed of it.

‘It was tucked down the side of the couch.’ He points to the edge, provoking a mental image of me dumping it on the sofa when I last tortured myself by reading a passage. How could I be so careless?

‘You shouldn’t have read it,’ I spit, feeling the horrid thing burning my hands, like in a weird sense, it’s coming back to life. I shake that wayward train of thought away before it takes too much more of my attention – undeserved attention. ‘Reminiscing, were you?’ I ask. ‘Reminding yourself of what you’re going to be missing?’ I regret my vicious attack before Miller’s face twists with hurt, even more so when that hurt morphs into anger. That was unnecessary and spiteful. I didn’t mean it at all. I’m lashing out, being unreasonable and cruel to the wrong person.

He slowly rises to his full height, his face falling into his signature impassiveness, and busies himself by pulling at his jacket sleeves before straightening his tie. I’m shifting on my feet, searching my brain for something to redeem myself. There’s nothing. I can’t take that back. ‘I’m sorry.’ I drop my head in shame, resisting the urge to toss the book into the fire.

‘You’re forgiven,’ he retorts with zero genuineness, striding past me.

‘Miller, please!’ I reach out to grab his arm, but he dodges me, stealthily removing himself from my reach. ‘Miller.’

He swings around, physically knocking me back when his fierce eyes land on me. His jaw is pulsing, his chest expanding fast. I wilt under every hard-cut plane of his face and telling sign of his current state of mind. He points directly at me. ‘Never throw that in my face again,’ he warns, beginning to shake before me. ‘Never! Do you hear me?’ He storms out, slamming the door behind him, leaving me immobilised by his raw fury. It’s never before been directed solely on me with such intensity. He looked like he could smash something to pieces, and while I’d put my life on him never laying a finger on me, I fear for anyone else who may cross his path right now.

‘Fuck!’ I hear him curse, and then his stamping shoes get closer again. I remain where I am, silent and still, until he’s bursting through the door of the lounge. That finger is pointed at me again, and he’s shaking more than before. ‘You’ll stay here. Understand?’

I don’t know what happens. Something triggers under his order and I find myself up in his face before I can weigh up the pros and cons of retaliation. I knock his hand out of the way. ‘Don’t tell me what to do!’

‘Don’t push me, Olivia.’

It doesn’t matter that I don’t plan on going anywhere and leaving Nan alone. This is principle. ‘Fuck off!’

He clenches his teeth. ‘Stop being so fucking difficult! You’ll stay here!’

I see red, then blurt something that surprises me as much as it clearly surprises Miller. ‘Did you know?’

Miller’s neck retracts on his shoulders, a scowl settling. ‘What?’

‘Did you know she was back?’ I shout, thinking how well he handled the situation. There was no shock. He fell straight into comfort mode, like he was prepared for it. ‘When I thought I was losing my mind and you talked me down, did you know?’

‘No.’ He’s adamant, but I don’t believe him. He’ll do anything to lessen my hurt. No one’s speaking. Ted’s shirked me, William has avoided me at all costs until now – now that I know for sure – and Miller virtually threw the phone off his desk to cut the call when Gracie’s name was mentioned. And then I’m thinking about the call from Sylvie, the one telling me about the woman looking for me. Her description. It matches Sophia perfectly, but it also matches my mother. Clarity is a wonderful thing.

Blood burns in my veins. ‘You told William to keep it from me, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I fucking did!’ he yells, startling me. ‘And I’m not fucking sorry!’ Firm palms cup my face, almost aggressively, and squeeze tightly, his nose meeting mine, his eyes penetrating me deeply. ‘I. Didn’t. Know. What. To. Do.’

I can’t speak; his grip won’t allow my mouth to open. So I nod, feeling emotion take hold – all of the stress, worry, and fear ripping through my vulnerable being. He was trying to shield me from more hurt.

‘Don’t leave.’ He scans my face, his gaze drifting everywhere, and though it’s an order, I know he wants my acknowledgement. I nod again. ‘Good,’ he says simply, then smashes his lips onto mine and gives me a forceful kiss.