Oh yes, Helen must have loved the thrill of reeling him in, although it can’t have been difficult. Trent was charming when he wanted to be, plus he was very generous, and he was in good shape. Oh, God, she thinks, remembering the cross trainer she bought him for his fiftieth. He was obsessed with it and lost nearly a stone and now she understands why. She’s unwittingly trimmed him up for another woman.

She takes her trusted Paul Smith holdall from the top shelf of her walk-in closet and starts packing her clothes. She spent so long planning this little haven of a room with its purpose-built shoe racks and jumper shelves. Its movement-activated light-up mirrors have always made her feel like a film star, but now, as she catches her reflection, without the flattery of the clever bells and whistles she uses on the images she posts, she looks … old. No wonder Trent doesn’t find me attractive any more.

She thinks of her forthcoming appointment with Jackie, the beautician, who comes to the house and gives her face a regular ‘spruce’. She’ll have to cancel the much-needed session. How can she see Jackie when she probably knows all about Helen and Trent too? It had been Maddy herself who’d given Helen Jackie’s number not long after they’d first become friends, after Helen had commented on how ‘fresh’ Maddy always looked. Maddy had shared the secret of their inner circle, revealing that Jackie ‘did’ all of their friends. But Helen hadn’t been admiring her; she’d just been trying to gain a competitive edge. It feels like such a gross betrayal of the sisterhood.

A little self-pitying sob escapes her as she packs her thermals, jeans, and comfortable shoes, then goes downstairs to the boot room to find her walking boots and coat. Her purse is in the pocket.

She’s heaving the bags into the hall when she hears the crunch of gravel on the drive and the roar of Trent’s Land Rover dying down as he turns off the engine. She sees the shadow of his body through the strip of frosted glass, the black of his leather jacket. Once, this sight made her heart race with excitement, but now it beats with dread.

‘You’re back,’ Trent says, as he comes in, chucking his keys on the console table. He’s carrying a Waitrose bag full of bottles. He must have been to the little one in Helen’s village.

His tone grates.

‘I just came to get a few things.’

‘I was calling you and calling you.’

‘My phone broke.’

‘Oh. Well, you shouldn’t have worried me like that.’

She used to be so enamoured with Trent. She sees this now, as he steps towards her. She flicks her arm away before he touches her. She can’t look at his familiar grey eyes because she can see that he means it. She has worried him. He does love her. In his own way. And she knows this. Because they’ve been together for ever, which means that there’s a very big part of her that belongs to him. A part, that should she detach it, might destroy her.