Realizing that it had been in the week before Evan had left, and that she’d been too wrapped up in misery to think about checking it since, Marie rushed home and logged into their online banking account. Her fears were confirmed when she saw that Evan had transferred six thousand pounds into another account the day after leaving, and the one thousand he’d left had already been swallowed up by the rent and various direct debits. The rest, she had spent on food and booze – more booze than food – leaving her with precisely seven pounds and eighty pence.

‘No . . .’ She stared at the screen in disbelief. ‘He wouldn’t do this to me . . .’

But he had, and she let out a roar of anger, causing the dog to jump off the sofa and run for cover.

‘You bastard!’ she screamed, slamming her fist down on the tabletop. ‘You absolute fucking bastard!’

The fury made her want a drink, but all of the bottles lined on the hearth were empty, so she lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Soothed by the nicotine, she closed the banking screen and brought up Facebook. She’d given up on searching for Evan after the confrontation with that bitch at the car showroom and his friends at work, but she wanted – needed – her share of the money they had saved, so she would have to find another way to track him down.

It took several attempts before she managed to crack the password on Evan’s Facebook account. He claimed not to bother with the site, but he’d already been proved to be a liar, so she wanted to check his relationship status, to see if he’d changed it from Married to In A Relationship.

He hadn’t, which dashed her hopes of finding the name of the woman he’d run off with; and he hadn’t updated his status, or commented on anything in over a year. Next, she opened up his messages, to see if he’d been chatting to some bitch behind her back; maybe arranging to meet up with her.

Nothing.

He’d never bothered setting up a Twitter or Instagram account, but he and Marie shared this laptop, so she closed his Facebook page and went into the history to see if he’d logged in to any online dating accounts.

Again, nothing.

At a loss as to what to do next, Marie sighed when the dog slunk back into the doorway and whined. Remembering that he hadn’t been fed, she slammed the laptop lid down and heaved herself out of the chair. Thanks to Evan, there was no dog food, but there was a chunk of stale Spam in the fridge, so she would give him that.