Two days later, Liam knocked on my door at ten o'clock at night.

He was holding a letter. His hands were shaking.

“It's from Larkspur,” he said. “They're not renewing our tenancy. We've got two months to get out.”

I read it. It was from Larkspur's old managing agent. The reason given was “repeated complaints from residents about noise and anti-social behaviour.”

“Anti-social behaviour?” said Liam. “They play football! They're eight and ten! They're in bed by half past eight!”

“Who complained?”

He laughed bitterly. “Who do you think? Nigel's been writing to Larkspur every week for a year. He told me so himself. He said it was nothing personal. He said the green was meant for quiet enjoyment.”

Liam sat down on my doorstep and put his head in his hands.

“Where am I supposed to go, Kate? Rents in Oxford are crazy. The boys will have to change schools. Again.”

I sat down next to him.

I wanted to tell him. Right then. Everything.

But the deal wasn't finished. Not until Friday. If I said a word now, I could put the whole thing at risk.

“Liam,” I said carefully. “Don't start packing. Not yet. Give it until Monday.”

“Why Monday?”

“Just trust me,” I said.