There was a long silence. I could tell the woman next to me was struggling hard with herself, her eyes glassy with tears. But with an enormous effort she regained control. Wiping her eyes, she looked down and straightened the front of her blouse.

Finally, turning her gaze to the half-open window she said, ‘I really don’t have any idea.’

‘Oh, so you’re back at last are you?’ Douglas burst out when I walked into the house. The train to Birmingham had been delayed and then I’d refused Alec’s offer of a lift and had a long wait for the bus. Douglas was seething with resentment, so much so that he had come downstairs to confront me. Seeing the advent of trouble between us, my mother, with the expression of a prophet whose words have come true, disappeared towards the other end of the house.

In a peevish tone which I had been hearing from him more and more lately, he said, ‘I suppose it’s too much to expect that you might spend Sunday with your husband?’

I was too tired and upset to point out that often when I did spend Sunday with Douglas, a good part of it consisted of hearing the sound of his typewriter coming from the small study next to our bedroom.

‘You know where I’ve been.’ I wanted him to hold me, for something to feel normal and right.

‘Do I?’ he hurled the words at me. His blue eyes were hard with fury. ‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, stop being so melodramatic,’ I said. ‘D’you really think I’d be making up some story about carting all the way to a mental hospital half way across Warwickshire for my own entertainment?’

‘That depends.’ He limped badly towards me, accentuating his disability. He did this to goad me, had been doing so increasingly lately. At first it had made me feel guilty, as if I was failing him in some way. Now I was beginning to resent it. I’d certainly had enough of everything for one day.

‘It all depends who you were really going to see, doesn’t it?’

I stared at him coldly. ‘What are you talking about?’

He stood silently for a moment, looking hard into my eyes and I met his stare, angry now.

‘Oh, forget I spoke,’ he said in a disgusted voice. I wasn’t certain whether the emotion was directed towards me or himself.

‘I went with Elizabeth Kemp. You know that.’

Ignoring this he moved towards the stairs. ‘I suppose there’ll be something to eat this evening.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed flatly. ‘I suppose there will.’

When he’d gone upstairs, my mother came back in. She’d obviously been listening. She walked across the room with a vase of flowers, not looking at me.

‘It’s no good.’ Her tone was brisk and neutral. ‘You’ll have to put him first. He’s not going to be the sort to play second fiddle to anyone.’

‘But he’s not having to,’ I cried, tearful now. ‘I’m doing my best. I can’t help it if Olivia’s ill, can I?’