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casual; facial hair had been almost de rigueur even before the dreaded rise of the hipster.
    He trudged downstairs and made sure everything was as he’d left it. After opening the living room curtains he stared out at the street for a minute. There were no vans in sight. No pedestrians other than a couple of dog walkers, a few teenagers dawdling to school. What little sky he could see looked dull and heavy with cloud.
    The cold light of day . Not that it helped him make sense of what had happened last night.
    He made coffee for them both. Evie had finished feeding, so he coaxed the wind from her while Alice had a shower and washed her hair.
    ‘This is going to make you late,’ she said as she returned, wrapped in a towel. The hot water had restored some colour and vitality to her skin, but she was still far from her normal self.
    ‘Doesn’t matter. I still feel I should stay here.’
    ‘Better that we stick to our routine, if we’re serious about putting this behind us. Anyway, you’re snowed under at the moment.’
    Harry couldn’t deny that. He was still dealing with the backlog that had built up during his paternity leave.
    ‘You’re sure you’ll be okay here on your own?’
    She nodded. ‘I’ve got to be, haven’t I?’
    ‘So we’re not going to the police? That’s definite?’
    ‘Definite.’

    H e asked her again , just before he left the house. Evie was sleeping in the Moses basket, which he’d carried down to the living room. Alice was eating toast and watching breakfast TV, gently scolding the pompous presenter.
    ‘“I am willing to interview you,”’ she said, in an eerily accurate impression of the man, ‘“so long as we’re both clear that nothing you’ve achieved in your life compares with my ability to get up early and read from an autocue.”’
    Harry laughed. This was an encouraging sign, he thought: the return of her sarcastic humour.
    He kissed Evie one more time, then stepped into the embrace that Alice offered him. Only when she’d nestled her face against his chest did he speak.
    ‘You’re absolutely certain about this?’
    ‘Harry, I spent all night going through our options. Imagine if we report it, and then the police catch them? I’m in the witness box, being cross-examined by some smartarse lawyer who says, “Can you be sure that this is the man who sucked milk from your breast, Mrs French?”’
    He felt her shudder and said, ‘No. Okay.’
    ‘Even if they were convicted, how long would they be in prison? A couple of years at most. And they’d come out far more determined to get revenge on us than if we just … let it go.’
    Harry nodded. It sounded like a pretty solid argument.
    Alice said, ‘So promise you won’t change your mind and call the police without telling me.’
    ‘I promise.’
    ‘And you won’t say a word to anyone at work?’
    ‘No, of course not.’
    She backed out of the embrace, one hand lingering against his cheek while she kissed him, then pushed him towards the front door.
    ‘Off you go, then, breadwinner.’
    Harry went, but it felt wrong. Before he reached the end of the street he’d looked round four or five times, studying the traffic, checking the house in case Alice had come to the door to call him back.
    But if he stayed home today, he knew that going to work tomorrow would be just as difficult. Maybe Alice was right, and they had to put this behind them. It was certainly understandable that she would want to blot out the memory of such a hideous assault. Even so, a disquieting voice in his head went on muttering that silence wasn’t necessarily the best option, and that they shouldn’t be dealing with this alone.

    I t was a grey , oppressive November morning, not particularly cold, the air like a damp sponge. A stiff breeze carried the scent of the sea and a few spent fireworks, as well as an unseasonal but welcome aroma of freshly cut grass.
    In Dyke Road the traffic was nose to tail in both directions. Harry could just