Back in Guildford, I message him—as Leah—and ask him if he could slip away that weekend, meet me at the cabin for a night of illicit fun. It’s his mum’s birthday this weekend and we are decamping to Tunbridge Wells to celebrate.

“Megan!” I’m sequestered in the bathroom, ostensibly dying my hair to cover the gray but really fielding his messages to Leah and my own to Tom.

“What?” I hate it when he interrupts me in the bathroom.

“No need to snap,” he calls back cheerily. “Do you remember if Mum said she had anything planned for the Saturday?”

“Not sure. Why?” I know exactly why, of course. I bought some new toys, I text from Leah. I found a box of things under her bed and previous messages from the real her to Chris. I know he will like this.

“Just work. You know how it is, Meggie.”

I know exactly how it is. I want you, I text. “Your mum is probably cooking,” I shout.

“Yeah. Probably.” He sounds defeated.

“Do you want me to ask her?” The good wife. I want you to fuck me until I scream your name, I text.

“Please,” he calls back. Touch yourself, he texts to Leah.

Not until you promise you’ll come on Saturday, I reply.

Of course, on Saturday we are sitting at his parents’ large wooden kitchen table, drinking wine as Val puts the finishing touches to the stew she has been slaving over all day. When I had called her, I’d told her that Chris was working too hard and needed a break, and would she please call him to insist we still came on the Saturday. So, here we are. Chris can never defy his mother. Even for all the filthy things Leah promised him. And the passive-aggressive message she sent this afternoon. Leah gets pretty grumpy when she doesn’t get what she wants.

When he follows his dad outside to review the garden, I send him one more message as Leah: I can’t believe you didn’t find some excuse and come anyway. Just think what we could be doing right now. I haven’t seen you for ages and I ache for your touch. But I won’t wait forever.

What did you expect this weekend? he messages back.

You, I reply.

Oh, come on Leah. That’s not fair.

I turn off the phone and bury it in my bag. I know he’ll be pissed off at her for interrupting his family time. Time with his wife is obviously irrelevant, but he’ll be mad she messaged while he’s with his parents.

“Are you OK, Megs?” Val asks, putting a large glass of red in front of me.

“Sure.” I smile and take a swig.

“You seem… I don’t know, distant, I suppose.” Concern drips from her voice. Sometimes I can hardly believe that Chris was born from this lovely, bubbly, kind woman in front of me. How could someone so nice produce a son like that?

“Just tired.” That old chestnut. “Work, you know.”