And Dan tried to keep things together, and hear her out, and answer her questions, while still telling her as little as possible, because it felt like a different kind of betrayal to lay bare the facts and his feelings for Alison, to expose her to Katelin’s fury with no right of reply. He didn’t mention the songs, couldn’t expose them to her contempt, so he held them close and treasured what they’d meant to him, although he couldn’t listen to them now.

Two months in, Katelin rang Alex and told him everything, and this was hard to excuse. She’d drunk too much one evening, alone in the house, when the damage was still fresh, and after a few hours with only her rage and pain for company, she’d concluded that their son should know the truth about his father. By the time Dan got home, she was a shivering wreck of profound regret, because Alex had been terribly, uncharacteristically quiet, had asked no questions, none at all, just listened for a couple of minutes to her slurred account of the Australian adventure, then said, ‘Shit, Mum, sorry, I can’t do this,’ and hung up.

‘I didn’t mean to tell him!’ she wailed later, pummelling her fists against Dan’s chest. ‘You made me do it. He hates me now, and I wanted him to hate you.’

‘He doesn’t hate you,’ Dan said. ‘He adores you. He just doesn’t need to hear about any of this. I’ll talk to him. It’s going to be fine.’

‘Why are you so fucking calm?’ she screamed.

‘One of us has to be,’ he said, and he held her for as long as it took for her to remember the world hadn’t ended, it had only changed for ever.

He knew beyond doubt now that he shouldn’t have told her, and he couldn’t remember why he had, only that perhaps in his wretchedness he’d needed to smash something, and his own life with Katelin had been the first thing to hand. But then she’d pronounced his fate, which was to remain together, building something new from the ashes, and although his heart was bruised and his soul defeated, and although many were the times he wanted to pack his old holdall and walk away, he knew the very least he could do for Katelin now was to let her have her way, dictate her terms. So he took his punishment. He listened to her again (and again and again), and when she asked was it over, were they in touch, did he still have feelings for Ali Connor, Dan said yes, and no, and no, and only this last answer was a lie, but he hoped that as the silence between him and Alison lengthened, the certainty that he would always love her might begin to diminish. The angry disappointment he’d once felt towards her – always a rather manufactured thing – had dissipated entirely a long time ago, to make way for something more dreadful: a kind of bleak acceptance that perfect happiness was now beyond his reach.