But she pushed herself upright and walked over to the study and eased the door open.
Max was there, leaning on the desk. Layla, wearing her school uniform of plain skirt and white blouse, her dark hair pulled back into a pleat, was holding on to him and sobbing.
Fourteen years old, thought Annie. God, what are we doing? What are we putting her through?
Max looked up at his ex-wife as she stood there. Annie felt her guts constrict as he stared at her. Her husband. Correction: ex-husband. He had chipped away at her love for him remorselessly, but still – even now – she found him physically almost irresistible with his black wavy hair, his tanned skin, his predatory hook of a nose, his dense, dark navy-blue eyes. Even if they were looking at her with something close to hatred, right this minute.
‘Layla?’ said Annie hoarsely. ‘What are you doing home? You’re meant to be in school.’
Layla said nothing, just shot her a tear-stained glance and cuddled closer to Max.
Max cleared his throat. ‘She was afraid I’d be gone before she got home, so she told them she felt ill.’
‘Well, she shouldn’t have done that.’ Annie’d had no education to speak of, and she was always determined that Layla, who was very bright, should not be raised the same way. Layla’s schooling was of the utmost importance.
‘I don’t want you to go!’ shouted Layla, and started sobbing again. ‘Please, Daddy, don’t go.’
‘We’ll still see each other. As often as you want. I’ll come to London to see you, and you’ll come out to see me,’ said Max, rubbing his daughter’s back soothingly.
‘It’s not the same.’
Annie could only stand there, feeling sickened and powerless. This was a bloody disaster. Max was supposed to have been gone before Layla got home – to avoid a scene. Only it was all going wrong, pulverizing her afresh with the pain. She hated what they were doing to Layla. But it was done. And it was best now – wasn’t it? – to just get this over with.
Max straightened, seeming almost to read her thoughts.
‘I’d better go,’ he said, easing Layla away from him.
‘No, Daddy, please don’t,’ she wailed.
As if she was four, not fourteen, thought Annie in anguish, feeling Layla’s torment as if it was her own.
‘I’ll call you,’ said Max, kissing Layla’s cheek. ‘Very soon. OK?’
Layla nodded dumbly, crying more quietly.
Max moved away from her, came towards the open door where Annie stood. He paused there, and their eyes met. If she reached out to him now, said, Let’s talk, let’s not do this, would he stay?
She almost did it, but her pride stopped her.