‘I don’t believe you, Alex.’ I paced the room in front of him, pacing until I thought I’d wear a hole in the marble floor. I couldn’t stop, couldn’t stand still. Round and round the conservatory I went, like a panther I’d once seen in a zoo: maddened by my enforced entrapment. ‘This is a complete waste of time. Just admit it.’

‘You said it.’ Alex’s fists were clenched in two tight balls of restrained emotion. I stopped for a second and stared at him.

‘You’re lying, I know you are.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Maggie.’ He met my eye, standing upright for once, not slouched as he usually was. ‘I can’t believe you’d think I could stoop so low.’

I laughed – but there was less mirth in this room than in a morgue. ‘I’ve seen you lower, Alex, remember?’

His eyes flared with something unfathomable. ‘That’s not fair, Maggie,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve been a bit fucked-up maybe – but nothing like this.’

He turned away, leaning his head against the glass, and stared out at the dying garden. The rigid borders of flowers were a little pathetic, just a few Michaelmas daisies and rows of fat-headed chrysanthemums whose number had recently been culled, judging by the bare stalks.

‘Yes, well, life’s not fair, Alex, is it? You spent a lot of time telling me that, I seem to remember.’ I watched a scrawny pigeon attacking the empty husks beneath the bird-feeder in desperation, pecking frantically like they were live things. ‘If it’s not you, who is it?’ I felt increasingly desperate, and I tried to push the panic down. ‘Someone’s got it in for me – and I can’t think of anyone apart from you.’

Although that wasn’t entirely true any more. Suspicion seemed to suddenly fit everyone I knew like a snug glove. Perhaps everybody hated me. Scrabbling in my bag for my fags, I looked out at the garden again – at those chrysanthemums.

By the time I had tracked down Alex at Malcolm’s house, my pendulum had swung between fear and fury infinite times, and being here now was only compounding my confusion. It felt utterly odd, to get straight out of bed with Seb to find myself threatened so unpleasantly, immediately into this bizarre confrontation with my ex. I stared at Alex and he stared back, his face a mask of indifference.

‘What do you want me to say? I can’t admit to something I didn’t do.’ There was a small arrow-shaped bruise on his forearm. He was always in the wars, Alex; usually alcohol-invoked. ‘It’s probably some nutter that saw you on TV. You shouldn’t smoke, you know, Maggie.’ He turned away again, biting his nail fervently.

‘Yes, well, needs must.’ I lit a cigarette defiantly, the smoke curling between banana plants and sweet-smelling jasmine towards the glass ceiling. It was warm in here, humid even, but the sky above was dead, utterly devoid of any kind of colour.