‘Tom,’ she snaps as the call goes to voicemail. ‘Ring me as soon as you get this. I can’t believe you left the guests alone. What were you thinking, asking Renata to stage some kind of … some kind of mediator situation. It’s un-fucking-believable.’

She ends the call and calls Renata’s number instead. It rings out then goes to voicemail. Not exactly surprising given it’s 3.21 a.m.

Kate rubs her hands over her face. What should she do – put out the breakfast stuff now and leave the guests a note so she can take off for Abersoch before they get up, or wait until they all come down and then go? Option one means she gets about four hours sleep, if she can actually sleep, and option two means five hours sleep and dozens of questions from the guests.

Option one it is.

She makes her way to the kitchen area and starts ferrying cereal, bowls and cutlery to the dining table. She sets out the table mats then sits down to write a note:

Dear guests, I’m sorry you’re waking up to find that neither Tom nor I are here but—

She balls up the note.

Dear guests, I’m sorry there’s no cooked breakfast this morning but—

She screws it up and hurls it across the room.

Fuck it. Why should she be the one who apologises? Tom’s the one who’s screwed everything up. Why does she have to shoulder the responsibility for his actions? Let him explain what’s going on for a change.

She pushes back her chair and stands up. She’s not going to wait until the morning. She’s going to confront him now.

Chapter 49

Then

JENNA

With the sun so low in the sky it’s almost as though a fire is raging on the horizon; darkness stretching for miles and then an explosion of orange and red. It’s beautiful, but all Jenna can see is the image in her mind of Tom and Kate kissing. Any doubt she may have had about what Kate had told her vanished the moment she saw them together. Tom had never had any intention of leaving his wife; how could he, when he’d shared every private detail of Jenna’s life with her? She imagines them, last night, cosied up in the bed she’d shared with Tom, gossiping and laughing. Rage bubbles inside her. She was used, a play toy for a bored couple.

The wind whips around her, making her dressing gown flutter like a flag. It pulls at her, taunting her: Step closer to the edge.