Or maybe his messages on my Facebook account were a warning of some kind.

Mel appeared in her dressing gown, took a new bottle of red from the rack and refilled her glass. She certainly wasn’t wasting any time tonight. She pulled up a chair and sat opposite me at the kitchen table.

There was silence between us for a moment.

Finally she said: ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on, Joe?’

I took a sip of my wine and placed the glass carefully back on the table. Looked her straight in the eyes.

‘I think you need to tell me that.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You were at that hotel this evening, with Ben. I saw you.’ I hated saying it, hated hearing the words come out of my mouth, but it had to be said. ‘You weren’t at tennis, at least not for the whole time.’

She opened her mouth as if she was about to speak, closed it again, shook her head. Sighed and looked away from me.

‘Tell me,’ I said, my heart sinking.

Please don’t let it be true.

‘I knew this would happen, I told him it would.’

‘You knew what would happen?’

She looked down at the table, blushing.

‘Oh God, you know me, Joe. I’ve never been very good at keeping secrets.’

For a moment I just stared at her, feeling the blood thrumming in my chest. It felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. When was the last time we had all been together, the Delaneys and us? A Sunday afternoon at their house at the tail end of the summer holidays, Ben showing off with his brand-new gas barbecue, Mel lingering around him, drink in hand, smiling and talking to him as if he was the most interesting man in the world.

Or was that just my imagination?

‘So tell me,’ I said, trying to keep my voice level.

‘You were right. I was there tonight.’

10

‘You were there, with Ben,’ I said.

‘Yes. But it’s not what you’re thinking.’

‘And what do you think that is?’

‘By the look on your face, I’d say you think I’ve been naughty.’

‘And have you?’

‘No, you silly sausage.’ She smiled and patted my hand. Her touch was warm, reassuring. It meant everything. ‘We had a meeting, that’s all.’

‘A meeting about what?’

‘He rang me this morning, said it was urgent. He wanted to meet face-to-face about something work-related.’

‘But about what?’ I said again.

‘Well . . . the point is, he told me it was super-confidential. He made me promise that I wouldn’t tell anyone, not even you. But I suppose I could give you a bit of the background, as long as none of it leaves this room.’ She held her hands up in mock surrender. ‘Since you caught us red-handed.’

I smiled, a warm glow of relief starting to move outwards from my chest.

‘Go on.’

She picked up her glass of wine, took a drink, set it back down between us.