‘I’ll take a pay cut,’ she added. ‘Please. You can trust me.’ I’ll keep your secret was the subtext, and she hated herself for it. She wasn’t in the business of blackmail or meddling in other people’s affairs. What had she become?

He glared at her then with a steely expression. ‘It’s none of your business, Jules, but for the record, Samantha and I have an open marriage. I’m fairly certain, although we don’t exchange details, that she’s fucking her hairdresser. Don’t bring my wife into this again.’

Jules couldn’t speak, could feel her face twitching and contorting, beyond her control. She nodded and shakily made her way to the door. She’d blown it.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Ralph muttered behind her. ‘Look. Jules.’ He sighed loudly. ‘I can’t make any promises, but I’ll speak to HR. I’ll see what we can do.’

She turned, disbelieving. ‘Why?’ she croaked.

‘I don’t fucking know,’ he said, scratching the back of his neck. ‘Because we’ve worked together for eighteen years. Because you’ve been my best ever hire. Because, you don’t deserve this.’ And he gestured at her, his pity flooding her heart with shame. ‘But Jules, please. Go to a fucking meeting, will you?’

*

‘What happened at work?’ Paul asked the following week, when he was at the house collecting some documents he needed for the sale. ‘Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’ She’d never seen Paul look like this. He was thin, his visage drained. He looked unwell.

‘I’m going to meetings,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Are you?’ he said wearily, in a tone that precluded it being a question.

‘A women’s one,’ she said. As part of her change in role at work, she’d requested to leave at 4 p.m. on a Tuesday so she could make the meeting. ‘There’s only one a week. Would you believe it? There’s hundreds for men! And try watching TV without being bombarded by adverts. It’s impossible! Even those nice northern lads you like on Saturday night TV are at it.’

He shrugged. He wouldn’t be drawn. She watched him run his hand along the door frame, distracted.

‘You’ve spent the last five years trying to outrun our problems in an app, Jules, but I’ve felt it all: every shock, every tremor. I’ve felt it enough for us both and it’s still so hard to leave. But I’m so tired, Jules.’ He sank to his knees in the hall. Bent over himself as he sobbed, his long overcoat covering the beautiful geometric tiles so carefully selected by Alice. Jules rushed into the hall and crouched beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,’ she whispered into his ear. Eventually, she felt him stiffen, his shoulders crunched together. He rose slowly, his hands rubbing his eyes. He groped in his coat pocket for a tissue and blew his nose. ‘I’m going to do it this time, Paul. I’m really going to do it.’

‘Good luck,’ was all he said as stepped out softly into the night and out of Jules’s life.