But it hadn’t been real, had it? False names in my phone. Stolen moments. A fantasy that could only hurt other people. I needed to decide to be happy with Paul and work on that. Stop looking for what I didn’t have and make what I did have work again.

I picked up my phone and my finger hovered over the ‘block’ button as I looked at Michael’s number. With one touch I could erase him from my life. I could make my excuses and pass my evening class responsibilities to someone else. It wasn’t as if we needed the money. I could use those nights to spend more time with my husband. Encourage him to come home more during the week, do things with me. Be a couple again.

We’d been in love with each other once, after all.

Chapter Fourteen

Rachel

The girls were in bed. I was halfway through my third glass of wine. Everything was a little hazy. Paul was sitting on the opposite end of the sofa to me, a glass of whisky in his hand. He swirled the crystal tumbler, the ice cubes knocking together while he looked deep into the amber liquid. He didn’t take a sip, just went back to looking at the TV.

There was a chat show on, but I don’t think either of us was really watching. We were both too lost in our thoughts. I wanted to reach out to him then, selfishly needed the comfort of his familiarity. It felt strange, though. There was a block between us and I couldn’t quite bring myself to reach out to him, physically or emotionally.

I heard him sigh. I glanced back to where he was staring again at his drink, as if it might hold the answers to some great mystery.

‘I’m not immune to how awful all this is,’ he said, looking up and catching my gaze. ‘I know you might think I’m being cold about it, but I’m not. If the truth be told, I just can’t get my head around it. That she’s dead. How she died. She’s one of us, you know. One of our gang.’

His voice was choked with emotion and in that moment I saw his vulnerability laid out in front of me.

‘I know,’ I said, feeling tears prick at my eyes.

‘I don’t want to think about it too much,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to know what happened. I just keep thinking, it’s so close to home. Too close to home. I imagine if it had been you, or Beth …’

I watched as a tear slid down his cheek – down that well-worn face I’d loved for almost twenty years. He sniffed, rubbed his eyes roughly, raised his glass to his mouth and knocked back his drink. That was Paul – never one to let his emotions get the better of him.