Eventually her hand began to turn vaguely blue under the running water so she dried it off on her jeans and went into the house through the back door. Michael had found a chicken casserole in the freezer and now it was in the oven, and the smell in the kitchen was comfortable and cosy, a little like it used to be. Then Ali scanned the worktop for her mobile phone and saw at once that it had moved from the place she’d left it; there it was, by the kettle, and there it was not, by her rucksack, and immediately all sense of comfort was dismissed by the low thudding in her chest which was either anxiety or anger, she didn’t know, but she picked up her phone and walked out of the kitchen and into the den, where Michael was watching Port Adelaide v. Essendon on the television. He looked up and smiled; then the smile faded.

‘You’ve been looking at my phone,’ she said.

It was anger, she decided, not anxiety. She had right on her side this time.

He paused, then held up his hands, unashamedly caught bang to rights. ‘It helps keep me sane,’ he said.

‘You may not check my phone,’ Ali said. Her voice shook a little. ‘I’m entitled to privacy. You can’t continue to treat me like a delinquent child.’

The commentary from the TV swelled to a feverish excitement and he coolly silenced it with the mute button. ‘Your entitlement to privacy is a moot point,’ he said. ‘I still don’t trust you. I used to trust you, but I don’t trust you any more, for obvious reasons.’

How she hated his patrician morality, his bloated sense of disappointment. He was a consultant paediatrician with decades of experience at dealing smoothly with difficulties, and he had this particular way of speaking under duress – calm, considered, rational – that made her want to hit him.

‘I think you’ve been in touch with him,’ he said.

She felt sick, slightly faint, and unutterably tired.

‘I have not contacted Dan Lawrence,’ she said, which was the truth, although not the whole truth. Three songs, she’d sent him, in the first days of their separation. But nothing since then, nothing for five months.