She didn’t know how long she sat on her stone, smoking cigarette after cigarette, but the sun had long reached its noon zenith when she took note of where she was and what time it was. Heavy-hearted, Imelda knew that she should go home. She’d children to take care of. Keelin and Cormac would be finished school and wanting their dinner and she’d to collect Peter from her mother-in-law’s.

She was stubbing out her last cigarette when she heard the crunch of tyres along the boreen. Imelda’s heart sank. She swore, wiping her tear-stained face with her hands, sure that her mascara had run after her bout of crying, and knowing that she looked a sight.

Her stomach lurched when she saw Larry’s red van.

Imelda stood up and squared her shoulders as her husband parked behind her car and made his way towards her, his face ashen and drawn in torment.

‘Imelda, I—’

‘How did you know I was here?’ she said dully.

‘I went home. I went to Mam’s. Saw no sign of the car and I thought I’d try here. I know you. This is where you come when—’

‘You know me,’ she derided. ‘Am I that predictable? And I thought I knew you. Well, I was wrong about that, for sure. In a million years I would never have imagined you and Fran Cassidy together.’

‘I want to talk to you about that—’

‘Why did you marry me? It certainly wasn’t for love,’ she interrupted bitterly.

‘I could ask you the same question,’ Larry said quietly.

His unexpected answer left her without a response. Because it was true. She hadn’t married him for love; she’d married him to escape.

‘So it’s all been a sham then,’ she said. ‘It must have been such an ordeal for you, having sex with me, when all that was in your head was Fran Cassidy. Oh, it explains so much, Larry. So much,’ she raged.

‘Don’t say that,’ he muttered, reddening.

‘I will say it. I’ll say what I bloody well like, you bastard. And I thought we had a good marriage, despite everything. What a fool I was!’

‘We did well, until today.’ He kicked a stone around, hands jammed in his jeans pockets, head lowered, unable to look at her.

‘I want to leave.’

‘I understand that – but, Imelda, I’m begging you not to take the children away from me completely. That I couldn’t bear. I’ll do anything. Give you anything you want. As much money as I can afford, but they are my world,’ he pleaded, tears rolling down his cheeks.