As quickly as the snow came, it disappeared again, leaving a dirty slush in its place, but slowly, spring returned. I got on with life. I went back to the Chronicle and wrote about Edna Brown’s vegetable patch and the like. I avoided calls from Xav though I invited him to the bash; I tried not to buy his paper but I couldn’t quite resist the temptation of keeping tabs on Ash Kattan or Lord Higham. I didn’t go anywhere near the Kattans, although once I saw the silver Porsche parked in town. I lingered for a moment looking for Maya, but she never appeared.

At home I helped James arrange his party. I finally remembered about the photos in the cupboard, the one of Lord Higham, but when he asked me to show him, I couldn’t find them, and James just laughed, and looked at me as if I was mad. And maybe I was. I remembered the images of Kattan and Higham I’d seen in Peggy’s basement and I felt like my judgement was utterly off. I’d been too busy reading things into places there was nothing to be read.

I cooked the meals (not very well, admittedly), I smiled dutifully, I played with my children, washed them, brushed their hair and cuddled them, tried not to snap at them too much when they woke me in the night or fought and argued, drove them from A to B – but inside, inside I felt cold and, if they hadn’t been there, not much better than dead.

I rang my friend Jen in London.

‘Will you come to the party?’ I said, and she whooped with pleasure.

‘Just try and stop me. Will there be any nice men there? Please say yes. My sex life’s like the Sahara.’

‘I doubt it. They’ll all be wankers from James’s club or married stodges from round here. Or beautiful – and gay.’

‘Great.’ She sounded less enthused. ‘I was hoping more Kings of Leon than George Michael. I’ll bring my Barbra Streisand outfit then. How are you, anyway? You sound a bit weird.’

‘Weird,’ I intoned, zombie-like.

‘Rose?’ she said, worried. ‘What’s up?’

‘Something. Nothing. Everything.’ I felt my eyes fill. ‘I’ve done something really really stupid.’

‘You’re not pregnant again?’ She sounded horrified. Jen had a high-flying job as an interpreter for the government; babies were low on her agenda.

‘No I’m not. That’d be better than this, I think.’

‘Really?’ She lowered her voice. ‘God. It must be bad.’

‘Jenny!’ But I knew what she meant. ‘I’ll tell you when you come up.’

‘Is it James?’ she whispered.

‘No. It’s me. It’s me and—’

‘Oh God, Rose. You’ve slept with someone else.’

Blood filled my ears. ‘I haven’t,’ I panicked.

‘Yeah you have.’ She knew me too well. ‘And you’re so bad at sex without love.’