As my husband stirs the mixture thoughtfully, my heart softens towards him. He’s not a bad man. He could be a lot worse. What if I had a husband like Jude? Greg has always been steady, faithful and I could trust him with my life. It’s so easy to overlook these qualities when you live with them every day.

‘This doesn’t mean I approve,’ Greg goes on. ‘Or even that I understand. But it means that I will support you.’

I come and wrap my arms round his waist. He puts down the bowl and I lay my head on his chest. And we don’t speak, because we don’t need to.

Chapter 83

Chapter 83

An hour later and Lauren was still lying in bed, mind whirling. She wanted to phone Zak but she couldn’t. It was like an itch prickling at her skin. He’d know what to say, what to do.

Then she heard a knock at the door and she let out a groan. It couldn’t be Jude, surely. He’d not long gone and there was very little left to say between them.

A voice shouted out her name.

It wasn’t Jude. It was Zak Reynolds, who must have added mindreading to his seemingly endless list of skills.

‘Lauren,’ he shouted as he rapped again. ‘Let me in. I’m going to camp on your doorstep until you open up.’

Groaning once more, Lauren dragged herself out of bed and went to the door. She leaned against it. Not a lot of imagination was required to picture Zak leaning on the other side – his untamed hair, his winning boyish smile.

‘Lauren!’ Zak shouted.

‘Ssh,’ she said. ‘I’m here. Be quiet or you’ll annoy the neighbours.’

‘She lives!’ Zak whispered back through the door.

It was a close-run thing, Lauren thought. ‘I can’t open the door,’ she said, ‘because I’m a complete mess.’

‘I like a skanky bird,’ Zak assured her. ‘I’m Amy Winehouse’s biggest fan, and you can’t get much skankier than that.’

‘I’m very skanky,’ she told him. ‘But you’ve been warned.’ Then she opened the door.

‘Whoa,’ Zak said as he came into her flat. ‘You’re right. On the skanky scale you’re way up there.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Fortunately, I come bearing lovely things to remedy that.’ Lauren had already noticed the box of groceries in his hands. ‘When did you last eat?’ He clocked the half-empty bottle of vodka on the table. ‘I bet there are plenty more where that came from.’

‘One or two,’ she admitted.

‘Go and have a shower,’ Zak instructed. ‘Your hair smells like chip fat.’

Lauren laughed at that. ‘It so does not.’

‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but it will do if you don’t wash it immediately.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Uncle Zak has brought chicken soup from the deli to set you back on the road to recovery.’