I wish my mother hadn’t moved away. That my father wasn’t dead. That I could run to the family home that had provided me with such comfort when I was small. I wish I could run to Trina’s, but we’re not that close – not close enough for Saturday night break-ins and breakdowns. I mentally scan through a list of friends and acquaintances and realise, with a thud, that there aren’t many – if any – I can call on right now.

The sensible part of me screams at me to call the police. The part of me that feels fear and wants comfort screams at me to run to somewhere I feel safe and cared for.

My hands sweaty, my fingers still clumsy and shaking, I scroll through my phone and hit the call button.

I’m almost weak with relief when I hear his voice.

‘Can I come round to your place? Jen and the boys are away, aren’t they?’

‘They are and of course you can.’

‘Good, I’ll be there as soon as I can get a taxi over.’

‘Are you okay? You sound shaken?’

That question. Suddenly, I’m not sure I want to tell him the truth. I don’t want him to know just how shaken I am. I don’t want to see pity in his face, hear the undertones of ‘I told you so’ in his voice.

‘I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘I just fancied some company.’

It’s a huge understatement. What I want is a distraction. Something to lift me out of this scary, dark place. It doesn’t matter if that distraction is good for me or not.

‘Good. Okay. See you soon.’

He sounds cynical. He probably doesn’t believe me, but he’ll forget that when I get there. He is easily distracted.

‘Yes, see you soon, Ryan,’ I say, hanging up and already feeling ashamed of what I’m about to do. I’m not the kind of mistress who feels devoid of shame at sleeping with another woman’s husband.

Chapter Thirteen

Ingrid

‘This is a nice surprise,’ Ryan says, helping me out of my still-damp coat. ‘Were you out walking in the rain?’

I’m shivering and my teeth are chattering, but I don’t think it’s with the cold. I can’t deny it. I’m glad to see him. To hear his voice – it’s comforting.

‘Sure, I got the taxi to drop me at the bottom of the street. Can’t be seen pulling up outside. What would the neighbours think?’ I reply, turning to face him.

‘Stuff the neighbours,’ he says, putting one hand to my face and brushing my hair back. ‘I don’t care what they think.’