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‘Why are we going to the doctor?’

‘I told you. You don’t look well. I’m worried.’

‘I don’twantto go to the doctor.’ Tom stamps his foot hard on the ground.

‘I’ve had enough of this. Why are you acting this way?’

‘I want to see Dad,’ says Tom.

‘What?’ My heart judders.

‘I have a right to see my dad. Pauly said so.’

I feel sharp tears. ‘Tom. You don’t know what you’re saying. Dad hurt you. Until he gets help,properhelp, it’s not a good idea.’

Tom shakes his head, looking back at the pavement. ‘Forget it then. You’re right abouteverything.’

‘I’m not right about everything. But I’m doing my best.’

Tom doesn’t answer.

When we reach the doctors’ surgery, his hand slides out of mine.

Lizzie

‘We’re here to talk about Tom’s broken wrist.’

It’s a female social worker this time – her name is Faye and she looks in her late twenties, with white skin and black hair like Snow White. She can’t have been in social work long because her forehead doesn’t have any lines.

Faye looks between Olly and me, clearly trying to size us up.

It must be hard to get the measure of us – we’re a mess of contradictions.

Olly, well-spoken and educated, yet scruffy in loose, surfer dude clothing, blond hair around his ears.

And me – well, who knows what I am? A skinny girl in a summer dress with DM boots. Long, brown hair. A worried little face. A real person in my own right, or just a girl pretending to be something Olly wants?

I’m not sure any more.

Olly loses his temper immediately. ‘Look, I don’t hurt my son, okay? We’re as confused as you are. Why can’t you leave us alone? We have enough on our plate.’

I put a hand over his, the placating wife, but Olly snatches his fingers away.

‘Don’t,’ he snaps. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘We’re just here to talk today, Mr Kinnock.’ Faye smiles. ‘All we want is what’s best for Tom.’

Faye’s questions become more intrusive after that. Was Tom a planned pregnancy? When did Olly and I marry – before or after the birth? Have we ever separated?

‘We’re just trying to get to the bottom of things,’ says Faye. ‘Injuries like this … they’re very unusual.’

The word hangs in the air.

‘Sometimes,’ Faye says carefully, ‘parents lose control around their children when they don’t feel they’re coping. Do you feel you’re getting enough support?’

‘We get lots of support,’ I say. ‘Olly’s mum is around. My mum visits often enough. Olly works from home now, so … he’s around all the time too. But … but …’

I don’t mean to, but I start to cry.