‘Sorry. I didn’t meant to imply… I meant… it was the most worried I ever remember you being, but after you opened up to me you began to feel better.’ Aidan began to pick at his own label to prevent his hand from smacking against his forehead. What had he been thinking? Of course it wasn’t the same. Reassuring Connor that he could use a public toilet without the risk of dying seemed mountainous at the time but Aidan knew it had faded into nothing. It was inconsequential. Something Connor can barely remember when he looks back. Hailey is… Hailey was…

‘I’ve got some homework I need to get on with.’ Connor had glanced pointedly at the door. Aidan wanted to scoop his son into his arms. Hold him until Connor felt able to release the emotion that was coiled tightly inside of him. Instead, he had risen to his feet. Walked out of the room, carrying the empty beer bottles and his inadequacies downstairs.

Aidan flicks his windscreen wipers on as the rain bounces of the windscreen. He could be warm and snug in front of the TV, calling out the answers to The Chase. Eating crunchy roast potatoes, and minted garden peas. He should be anywhere but in this car, driving, not to the Thompsons’ farm as he had told Lucy, but towards trouble.

Meet me in 30 minutes, she had messaged, counting on the fact he’d be able to get away because he usually can. He is frequently on call.

It takes twenty minutes to reach the outskirts of town where they have a good chance of remaining anonymous.

He should be at home.

He is here now. Their usual meeting spot, the back of the White Swan pub, even with his windows shut he can smell hops. He pictures Lucy rattling a tray up to Kieron if he’s too tired to come downstairs, her and Connor perching on the edge of his bed, dinners on laps. A family meal, not always around the table, but a family all the same.

He should be at home.

The click of the car door. A blast of damp, icy air.

‘Aidan.’ Her voice is thick as though she’s been crying.

He can’t bring himself to look at her. His fingers grip the steering wheel tightly.

He wants to stop this.

He has to stop this, it’s madness. There is so much at stake. Too much. He’d tried a few days ago, told her it was over, but she’d been angry, upset, unwilling to accept it. He stares straight ahead as the windscreen wipers sweep across the glass.

Danger. Danger. Danger.

‘Aidan?’ Her hand lightly touches his shoulder and he shrugs it off but he can still feel the heat of her.