I hit like below her comment.

The traffic light went green and I turned the wheel to follow the route my wife’s car had taken, down the slip road and left into the forecourt of the Premier Inn. Down the ramp into the underground car park, low concrete roof and deep shadows where the striplights didn’t reach, driving slowly along the lines of parked cars.

And there it was: her VW Golf, parked next to the lift. Mel was nowhere to be seen. A sign on a concrete pillar read: Car Park for use by patrons of Premier Inn only. There were no spaces next to her car so I carried on round the circle and found a space in the row behind, backing in opposite an oversized white 4 x 4 that was clearly too big for the space it occupied.

‘Can we go and see Mummy now?’ William said. He was still clutching his ‘I’m a Superstar!’ certificate in both hands like he was getting ready to present it to the Queen.

‘Come on, then, let’s go upstairs and find her. There’s a lift.’

His eyes lit up.

‘Can I press the button?’

The hotel lobby had dark shiny floors and anonymous décor, a single waistcoated teenager on reception. William’s hot little hand gripped mine tightly as we stood looking for Mel. There was a rumpled man with a suit bag and briefcase, wearily checking out, a woman and a teenage girl behind him. An elderly Japanese couple sat in the reception area, poring over a map. But no sign of my wife.

‘Where’s Mummy gone?’ William said in a loud stage whisper.

‘Come on, let’s find her.’

Reception was L-shaped, with lifts and the restaurant signposted around the corner. We followed the signs, away from reception. The restaurant was mostly empty. Recessed off to the left were the lifts and a raised seating area with large black armchairs facing each other across a handful of low tables.

Mel was there. She had her back to us but I would have recognised her anywhere, the slender curve of her neck, honey-blond hair.

Hey, there. Surprise!

Wait.

She was with someone. A man, talking in animated fashion.

Something made me stop. I knew the guy she was talking to: Ben Delaney, married to one of Mel’s closest friends. And he wasn’t just animated – he was downright angry, his face dark with frustration. He interrupted her, pointing his finger, his voice a barely controlled growl. Mel leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. He sat back, shaking his head.

Something was wrong with this situation.

Instinctively, I moved in front of William to block his view. My first thought was to go over and check Mel was OK, but not with our son in tow. Mel was gesturing with her hands now, Ben staring at her, frowning, shaking his head.

This is not something William should see.

‘Come on, Wills,’ I said, ‘Mummy’s busy, let’s go back downstairs.’