Fuck! Shauna couldn’t speak. She sat there and stared, shaken and disbelieving. Her mouth felt dry as ashes and her heart was beating hard against her ribs. It was true. All her suspicions, all her feelings, she’d been right all along. He’d been having an affair. But it was worse than that. It was a thousand times worse. Because . . . that was her, the Milo bitch. She looked again, wondering if she was going mad, if she was imagining Claire Milo’s face – but she wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t. Claire was older, sure. But it was her. Somehow – Christ, how? – Josh had been reunited with the cow.

No, she thought, it can’t be.

Claire Milo had hardly aged at all. The years had been good to her.

‘But . . . I know her,’ she said.

‘You do?’ Lesley was surprised.

‘From a long time back.’ Shauna was still staring at the photo of her husband, her husband, kissing Claire Milo. The Cleaver boys had killed the dog and had a real fuck-fest of a time with Claire, and she had run. Of course she had. And now it was obvious she’d run far: to New York.

Josh had been over there so much. Had seemed so happy to go. And this was why. How long had this been going on, her husband and that fucking no-mark Milo bitch, laughing at her behind her back?

‘Can I get you something, Mrs Flynn? Water or anything?’ Lesley asked in concern.

Shauna was shaking her head, over and over. All right, she had suspected. But here it was, proven. Her husband had cheated on her. And he’d done it with Claire Milo, who should have been gone.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, dazed, shocked beyond belief.

‘Well, I’ll leave those with you for now. You know where I am if you want to get in touch.’ Lesley stood up. ‘Once again, Mrs Flynn – I’m sorry. I’ll see myself out.’

Shauna sat there, barely noticing her going, staring at the evidence of her husband’s betrayal.

Josh looked so happy in these shots.

So carefree.

Because he wasn’t with me.

Because he was with her.

She was still sitting there looking at the photos when Connor came back.

‘What’s this?’ Connor asked, coming into the sitting room, looking at the shots over his mother’s shoulder. Then he focused. ‘What the hell . . . ?’ He came around the couch, sat down beside Shauna, picked up first one print, then the next, then the next. Then . . .

‘What the fuck?’ he asked, staring at the picture in which Josh was kissing the unknown woman, who was very pretty in a non-tarty way – a smallish pale blonde, with big eyes and a broad smiling mouth.

‘I was having your dad followed in New York,’ said Shauna.

Connor stared at her face. Her expression was blank, closed-off.