She sits down hard on the edge of the bed, a surge of agitated feelings travelling through her. And that’s when she smells it: meat grilling on a barbecue in the park. From outside, she can hear the screaming of children on the green, and it is that, along with the scent of meat cooking, which strikes a deep chord of memory, the day of Charlotte’s death ringing up from the past.

Greg was outside that morning, planting his new purchases from the garden centre. She had watched him unloading them from the car – rosebushes and fuchsias, hydrangeas and clematis – then carrying them through to the back. She had no idea where his sudden desire had sprung from to tackle the wasteland out there.

It was over between them, although Greg didn’t know it yet. There could be no going back. Not after the party last night. Not after what had happened. She loved Anton in a way that couldn’t be replicated or denied. She was sitting on her bed, trying to summon the courage to go downstairs and explain this to her husband, but when she thought of the stricken look that would surely appear on Greg’s face when she told him, her stomach clenched into a tight knot and she had to lean forward and wait for it to pass. Anton was probably over there right now, breaking the news to Charlotte. Hadn’t he said as much to her in those brief moments after Charlotte had discovered them together? Hilary couldn’t remember the exact words he’d used, but that was the impression he’d left her with: that they couldn’t wait any longer. It would be better for everyone this way. Quick and painful, like ripping off a plaster. Then they could all figure out a way to heal.