She wasn’t sure how long her phone battery would last. It was an old handset, and she hadn’t brought her charger with her.

‘Do you want to talk?’ she asked.

‘No.’

Fresh sobbing. ‘I just need you there… don’t say anything… just stay there.’

Minutes cranked past. She looked at her watch. Five minutes. Seven. Ten. Her phone battery was at five per cent. She needed the loo. Where was the vodka she’d ordered?

In Scotland, Marianne and the family must have all gone back inside to party on, the concerned voices no longer rising and falling in the background, just wind whistling, distant bass thuds, and Mack’s sinal breathing. That grated away her sympathy, a direct reminder of the hours she’d spent lying awake in bed listening to it in its slumber, the snores rising and retreating, her heart hammering, wondering if she’d ever have the guts to end the marriage.

‘Don’t go,’ he reminded her every few minutes.

Twelve. Fifteen.

How long was this standoff going to last? Was he hoping to make her listen to him freeze to death?

There was a quiet knock on the hotel room door. Her reflexes whipcracked, craving the first cold heat of vodka in her mouth. She tried to steal silently across the room to open it, but the puppy started bounding and barking behind her.

A lofty youth in a too-tight uniform stood in the corridor with a tray. ‘Hello! I am Radek and I bring you room service this evening.’

Hanging onto the barking puppy’s collar, Pax tried to hush him, rolling her eyes at the phone wedged between ear and shoulder, making apologetic gestures. But he was already marching inside, his feet huge, talking loudly in an Eastern European accent about the New Year party going on in the bar. ‘You will come down to join guests later, I think. It is big fun night. Oh, sweet puppy.’ He put the tray on the desk and stooped down, making ‘smoosh’ kissy noises as he did so.

‘What’s going on?’ demanded Mack. ‘Where are you and who the fuck is that?’

‘I’m in an airport hotel,’ she explained, which didn’t help.

‘You’re fucking leaving the fucking country?’

‘No, Mack.’

But he was too busy raging to listen. The tears and the long, martyred silence were instantly replaced with a barrage of accusations – running away with her lover, bolting just like her mother.

Having finally twigged that she was on the phone and the call was a bit delicate, Radek backed towards the door, but he was having difficulty shaking off the puppy who had hold of his trouser leg with his small, sharp teeth. Hurrying to detach him, Pax felt the phone slip from her shoulder’s grip, drop to the carpet. The puppy let go of the hem and picked it up instead, triggering the handsfree speaker, so the shouting seemed to be coming from his mouth.

‘You’ll never get custody of Kes, you realise? I know about your past, remember? Even the bit you didn’t tell the police and social services. All of it.’ The battery died with an electronic chirrup.