She is sitting in the same spot when Sam returns home two hours later. She has stayed awake, but Hannah has not called again. She watches him come in, take off his jacket, and hang it on the hook with careful deliberation. He takes two beers out of the pockets of his coat. “I got these, they were giving them out at work—you want one?”

“Sure.”

He opens them with his lighter and passes her one, coming to slump on the sofa beside her. He looks tired, she thinks, tired and drunk.

“I just spoke to Hannah.”

“Oh?” His eyes are unfocused.

“Nathan cheated on her.”

“What?” He looks at her, mouth agape, beer bottle halfway to his mouth. “Who with?”

“Lissa.”

He sits forward. “You’re joking?”

“No. At least Hannah’s convinced of it.”

“Fucking hell.” He takes off his cap, runs his hands through his hair. For a moment he looks horrified, and then he starts to laugh. She stares at him, appalled, and then she starts laughing too. They put their hands over their mouths as though they might be overheard, as they shake and shake with strange twisted exhilaration, until, abruptly, they stop. Cate feels the guilt swilling around her body.

“Shit,” says Sam, shaking his head. “Poor Hannah. Shit,” he says again.

Cate puts down her beer. “Sam,” she says.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about Mark.”

“Yeah, well. He probably deserved it. He’s always been like that. Even when he was at school.”

“Will they forgive me?”

“It’s not them you need to worry about,” he says. “It’s me.”

“Will you forgive me?” she says.

“That depends.”

She slides her hands into his palms. “Can I kiss you?” she says.

He says nothing. She lifts her lips to his. He lets her, but does not respond. Then he turns his face away.

“I need to tell you something,” he says. “I asked you to marry me because I fell for you. And I thought you felt the same. I’m not here to be your consolation prize, Cate. I want to be chosen. Not settled for.”

And he slides himself out of her hands, stands, and leaves her where she sits.

Lissa

SHE LIES IN BED LATE ON NEW YEAR’S MORNING. SHE WEARS only a T-shirt and knickers. He is coming to see her—there is no need to get dressed.

She jumps up at his knock, but as soon as she opens the door, she sees that something is wrong.

“She knows,” he says.

She puts her hand to her mouth.

“Come in.” She sees his hesitation. “Come in,” she insists, taking him by the wrist.

He steps over the threshold into the kitchen where he stands, his coat still on. She turns on the light, the ugly, old electric ceiling light, and his face is pale beneath it. “I said nothing,” she says.

“No. I didn’t imagine you had.”