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“Marmie, do you want to show me where you put the wet clothes?” Dylan asked. “Then we’ll figure out where to wash them. Want to help?”

“I’m good with washing machines. I can press the buttons.”

“You can. But we do it together, okay?”

I just stood there, not sure what to do for a minute.

Dinner.

For two households. I’d apparently volunteered myself.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

I rolled up my sleeves. Nothing I hadn’t done before, right?

I opened the fridge, still smiling.

Wanted. Needed. Useful.

Small words, but bloody lovely ones.

Loved. I felt it.

And how wonderful was that?

28. Dylan

“Dylan.” It was her normal greeting, only this time, she sounded slightly broken.

I hated that she did, and that I still reacted this way to the sound of her voice. Like I cared, when my body was frozen with that familiar fear.

I was never good enough. Never would be.

I straightened my back and sat down on the bed in the otherwise empty room. I’d walked all the way up to thetop of the house, leaving the children downstairs. My neighbours had taken up residence in my front room, with Jean perched on a kitchen bar stool discussing art with Constance.

Still day one. And we were still alive.

“Veronica,” I responded. Polite. Grateful. Calm.

“I’m not a bad parent,” she said. “Whatever Gun Larsen has put into your head, I’m not. I worked really hard to ensure the kids were looked after. They had the best care. Twenty-four-hour security, highly trained nannies, and they were driven—”

“Veronica, they…” I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to drag all this up again.

“Gun Larsen told me to stop being a bad mother and start being a parent. The bitch. The absolute bitch.”

I managed to restrain myself from nodding and instead watched my ex-wife on the screen, blowing her nose into a tissue.

“New York is boiling hot, and the air con in this office is just dumb. Not even a waft of cool air.”

She was crying. Emotional and tired and pretending I couldn’t see it.

“Veronica,” I said softly. “You were always a good mother. You tried hard. But sometimes you have to work with me because I am part of this too. That’s the only thing that’s changed. We’re making good decisions for our children, and I think moving them here is a good decision.”

Carefully chosen words, but I waited for her to throw them back at me, hurl abuse.

“It’s only for three weeks, Dylan. I’ll come back and get them. This is not permanent, you know this.”

I nodded, despite screaming on the inside. I didn’t want to think that.