Lauren sighed to herself. Another long, empty Sunday stretched ahead of her. It was the day of the week she hated most. Monday to Friday she could virtually guarantee seeing Jude – even if it was just for a few snatched moments. It was difficult working together, since they had to be discreet. But occasionally, when they were sure they were alone, their fingers could linger in places where they couldn’t go in public, and they might steal a kiss in the office kitchen – or Jude might let his hand rest in the small of her back for longer than was considered appropriate for mere colleagues without someone shouting, ‘Sexual harassment!’

Sundays were always more difficult. Sometimes on a Saturday he could call into her flat, having concocted some tale about an errand that needed to be run or some work that urgently needed to be attended to. But on Sundays Jude could rarely get away from family duties. And, as a consequence, that was the day that chewed her up the most.

If she wasn’t very careful, her mind could stray into terrible territory where she could see images of Jude playing Happy Families with his wife and kids. His children – Benjy, ten, and Daisy, eight, – were at that age where he’d be taking them to the cinema, maybe playing football on the Heath near where they lived. Sometimes she had to stop herself from going over there for a walk, just to try to catch a glimpse of him to see her through the day. Lauren knew that it wasn’t what he really wanted from his life – he wanted nothing more than to be with her – but he was a very devoted father and took his responsibilities seriously. She loved him for that too.

He didn’t love his wife Georgia she also knew that. But some days – Sundays – it was hard to see why.

Lauren had met her on several occasions over the years. Work dos, where it was impossible for their paths not to cross. And she had hated her every single time. Georgia was pretty, vivacious and charming company. Everyone in the company was besotted with her. Everyone except Jude, of course. Oh, he put on a good enough show when he needed to, but Lauren knew differently. The attentiveness, the gentle touching, it was all a show, a sham, an illusion. When they were at home alone, things were very different. Georgia wasn’t funny or flirty then. At home she was cold, aloof, unresponsive. Jude had told her often enough while he was lying in Lauren’s bed. Why would he come to her, if things weren’t seriously messed up?