It was almost one in the morning when Parvez came home, smelling of brandy and contrition. He entered the bedroom quietly, undressing in silence. He knew Shona was still awake, as she was lying on the far side of the bed, very straight and still. ‘Shona, I didn’t mean to be so late,’ he whispered as he got into bed. ‘Jay wanted to make a night of it, and I didn’t think you’d mind. I stopped by the restaurant on the way home. Sharif told me what happened. I’m so sorry about your father, I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. I know how much he means to you.’

At his words, Shona turned away from him and curled up into herself. He saw she had begun to shiver and shudder, and suddenly she let out great, choking sobs that welled up from deep inside and shook her whole body. Parvez tentatively touched her shoulder, and as she kept sobbing, oblivious to him, he put his arms around her and held her while she sobbed, burying his face between her neck and shoulder. ‘Shona,’ he whispered, ‘Goldie, don’t upset yourself so. He’s going to be fine.’ He kissed her hair reassuringly, but Shona couldn’t stop her tears.

‘You don’t understand, it’s never going to be fine,’ Shona choked out, ‘I can’t do this any more. I can’t keep pretending it’s fine.’

Parvez misunderstood what she said, and didn’t let her finish. ‘Shh,’ he said soothingly, ‘I’ll look after us. It will be fine, I promise. We’ll see him tomorrow, we’ll go together.’ He stroked Shona’s hair and bare arms, and curled himself against her, comforting her with his warmth and physical intimacy, the only way he knew how to comfort her after their long years of marriage. As her sobbing calmed down to deep, ragged breathing, without being quite aware of what he was doing, he began making love to her, and she, half asleep and tearful, found herself responding to him as she always had before, as though simply being next to his skin would replace the closeness they had lost.

Afterwards, Shona went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and looked back at the silver light of the moon streaking into the kitchen. She had managed to make things worse, if that were possible. She still had the burden of her father’s great secret to carry, unabsolved, in addition to her own clandestine affair. And now she had not only been unfaithful to Parvez, but she had compounded her sin by being unfaithful to Dermot, too. If she had to keep any more secrets, tell any more lies, she felt as if she would break.