‘What if I don’t want to live with your parents? What if I’d rather trap my nipples in a garlic press? I don’t want to move to Scotland, Mack. The purpose of the Cotswold exercise was also to be close to my family, remember?’

‘Nobody’s forcing you to come,’ he said icily. ‘In fact, nobody is inviting you until you straighten yourself out. When I say my parents have invited us to live with them,’ he went on with measured relish, ‘I mean just Kes and myself for now.’ She heard the acid sting in his voice, the same tone he used to tell buyers he didn’t like they’d been gazumped. ‘You made it perfectly clear on Christmas Day that you no longer want to be a part of this marriage.’

‘C’mon, Mack. I was angry. We’d had a lot to drink.’

‘Your alcoholism certainly doesn’t help.’

‘I am no more an alcoholic than you are.’

‘Perhaps a trial separation is exactly what we both need. Sort your head out, wee girl – I can’t carry you any longer.’

‘You’ve never carried me, Mack. Not even over the threshold.’ Stay calm. Stay calm.

‘You’re a drunk, Tishy. You said it yourself.’

‘I can stop any time I like.’

‘Do it tonight. Getting sober is a minimum requirement.’

‘And you being less of a total arsehole is mine. But you can’t do that, can you?’

He rang off and she thumped the dashboard and screamed, making the white van men turn and stare. He was winding her up, she knew it, but she hated him for it. The radio station she had been listening to kicked back in on the speakers, churning out an old ballad that made her catch a sob.

White hot with humiliated anger, Pax messaged her friend Lizzie. I officially hate him!

Have you left him yet? she pinged back eagerly.

Not exactly.

Do it, darling. A girl-power salute GIF followed.

Which was easy to say from that happy place of Facebook shop fronts and buzzword answers.

Yet Pax needed Lizzie now; she had to listen to wisdom, however watered down by distance and memes. Lizzie was one of Pax’s small and exclusive circle dating back to her single life, mostly childhood friends, not the couple-culture cronies garnered through marriage, children and rugby. They’d been junior riders in the British team a lifetime ago. Lizzie had remained with horses, marrying a professional rider with a wandering eye. Unable to turn a blind one to his flings forever, her marriage had finally fallen apart last year. She was a good sounding board, now in a happy place with a new lover, rebooted self-esteem and strong opinions.

Ditch the bastard! Pax read, emojis lined up alongside her friend’s words. Best thing I ever did.

But Lizzie didn’t have a five-year-old son who adored his dad. She didn’t have a business with her husband, debts up to their ears, and puritanical in-laws watching her every move. She hadn’t vowed to herself to stick with her marriage no matter what. She didn’t owe him like Pax owed Mack.