‘He’s no trouble at all.’

I said: ‘Did you have something to eat?’

We always left biscuits and crisps out for her, but for some reason she never touched them.

‘Wasn’t really hungry. Thanks.’

Mel took a five and a ten from her purse and handed the notes to her.

I picked up my car keys.

‘Right, then. I’ll run you home.’

Mel said: ‘How many beers have you had?’

‘Two. Plus one earlier. Feel all right though.’

‘I’ll take her. I’ve only had one glass of pink.’

Alice looked embarrassed, like she didn’t know where to look.

‘I could get a taxi,’ she said in a small voice.

‘Of course not, don’t be silly,’ Mel said.

After they’d left I checked on William. He was sleeping soundly, so I fetched a bottle of beer from the kitchen and collapsed on the sofa in front of Match of the Day. The beer was cold and tasted good on the back of my throat. It had been a crazy forty-eight hours: first I thought my wife was having an affair, then I thought I’d put someone in hospital and might lose my job, my marriage, my liberty.

But instead here I was on a Saturday night, with a beer on the sofa, and all three were still safely intact. I toasted Gary Lineker and Alan Shearer on the TV.

‘Cheers, gents.’ I took a long pull on the bottle and settled back to watch Man City vs. Arsenal.

I woke with a start as the Match of the Day theme music played at the end of the programme. For a second I was disoriented and couldn’t work out what was going on, then sat up groggily, blinked, kicked over an empty beer bottle and turned the TV off. The central heating had gone off and the lounge had grown cool while I dozed.

The house was utterly quiet around me as I moved into the hall.

‘Mel?’ I said softly.

No answer. The hall clock said it was a few minutes to midnight.

Mel’s car was still not back on the drive. But there was a text message on my phone, from an hour ago.

Dropped Alice OK. Beth having a bit of a meltdown again. Going to stay for a cuppa, see you in a bit. x

I texted back a short reply, opened the fridge and contemplated another beer. Decided against it. Contemplated the pile of essays waiting to be marked on the kitchen counter. Decided against that, too. Did a final check of all the doors and windows, then climbed the stairs slowly, my legs heavy. William was sleeping on his back, his duvet kicked down the bed and both arms flung over his head, like a surrendering soldier. I tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead, closing his bedroom door as quietly as I could. He was a light sleeper.

My last thought as I put my head on the pillow was about all the ways someone might be able to break into our house. Maybe I should double-check again, I told myself. Should have checked it twice. What if Ben comes around the back? Did I take the key out of the door? Should have taken the key out.