She snorted but didn’t stir. From my jacket pocket came a tinkling wind chime sound – a text message on Mel’s mobile.

We still on for 8, beautiful girl? xxx

7.12 p.m. Ben mob

The irony was so thick I felt like I could reach out and touch it. The irony of receiving a text from Ben, meant for my cheating wife, while I was with his cheated-on wife, in the living room of his house. I typed a reply, imitating the style that my wife had used earlier:

Of course! Can’t wait Mr D xxx

7.13 p.m. Me

I put the phone away and tapped Beth’s foot gently.

‘Beth?’ A little louder this time. ‘Are you OK?’

Her eyes opened to slits, slowly, looking around as if she didn’t know where she was. She raising herself up on her elbows, frowning. Her gaze went from me, to William, to the TV, the pills on the coffee table, before returning to me. She sat up, unsticking the hair from her cheek. The dressing gown seemed to hang off her and I could guess why: it was Ben’s.

‘– time is it?’ she said, her voice thick and distant. She picked up a glass on the table, saw it was empty, and slowly put it down again.

‘Ten past seven.’

She swung her legs off the sofa, looking at me intently as if she was trying to remember who I was. Blinked slowly.

‘What d’you want? . . . s’going on?’

William reached out and clasped my hand. I folded his small hand in mine and felt him edging closer to me, half hiding behind my shoulder. It was clear already that I should have listened to my wife – turning up here had been a very poor decision, and I was starting to see why.

There was no question of leaving our boy with Beth. Not when she was totally spaced out like this.

‘Just wanted to check you were OK, Beth, after this afternoon. I was quite concerned about you.’

‘’Bout me?’ Her glazed eyes were half shut, the lids closing and opening in slow motion. ‘Why? I’m fine.’

‘You look tired.’

She looked at her wrist, frowning. She wasn’t wearing a watch.

‘What time d’you say it was?’

‘Seven ten.’

Beth smiled, pointed a manicured finger at William.

‘Past your bedtime, young chap.’

‘My bedtime’s seven fifteen,’ he replied. ‘But I’m allowed late bed tonight so Mummy can meet her friend.’

Beth nodded. Her smile faded.

‘What friend?’

I stood up.

‘We should go. Come on, Wills.’

‘What friend?’ she repeated, moving to get up off the sofa. ‘Is it Ben?’

‘No.’

Trust nobody.

She stood, swaying, blinking, before sitting back down heavily.

‘Is it Ben? Have you found him?’

She sagged back into the sofa cushions, seeming to fold in on herself.

‘Ben,’ she said again, her voice forlorn, eyes already closing.