“I know.”

“I wasn’t keeping it from you. I just—”

“Gwen.” His voice was wrecked. “I have been waiting two years for you to be angry at me. Two years. You have never once—” He stopped and pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. “I thought you’d forgiven me for it and I could never work out how.”

“I hadn’t.”

“No.”

“I didn’t know how to be angry at you and safe at the same time,” I said. “I’ve only just now got enough spare room in me to do both.”