I picked at the skin around my fingers, and I imagined rage, good and pure, exploding through the tips of Vera’s fingers. I saw her grabbing me, hitting me, smashing my head against the corner of the coffee table. I would deserve it.

Words flashed in my head – whore, slut, cunt. Awful words, ones you were told to never say about another woman. And yet, I was all of them, everything bad I had ever feared. With my best friend’s husband. I was disgusting. I chanced a look up, but her face was blank, unreadable.

‘Lucy,’ she said finally, voice smooth.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I interrupted, words pouring out like jumbled blocks. ‘Say you’ll forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it. Just say you will. Please.’

She pressed at her thighs, straightening the bottom of her dress. ‘Lucy, John told me about that night.’

‘What?’ The shock in my voice was palpable. ‘What do you mean, he told you?’

‘You think we were married as long as we were and nothing inappropriate ever happened? He told me you guys had too much to drink, and he was worried about leaving you on your own, especially since you were so scared about Davis, so he crashed in your bed. He said his clothes were on, and nothing happened.’

‘Really?’ My mind raced, trying to understand. He’d left me that note, practically begging. Please don’t tell Vera. But he already had.

‘Is there something else I should know?’ she asked, biting her lip.

He’d told her enough, enough so she wouldn’t ask too many questions. He’d made an excuse, and he didn’t want me to tell her the actual truth, the true betrayal. He’d set it up nicely so our lies would be believable. Twisted truths are better than flat-out lies – Vera herself had taught us as much. I shook my head, understanding now exactly what I had to do. If I didn’t screw it up, she’d never know the whole of it. She’d never know we kissed. Even the police had no proof of that. If they showed her the photo, I’d say I had no memory of it – that was true, after all. ‘No, I just –’

‘The police, everyone in town, even some of the people who were at the memorial this morning, they like to think that John and I had this awful marriage, but you saw us, Lucy. You knew us. Do you really think we didn’t love each other?’ Her voice cracked. She was crying now, too. ‘We loved each other enough to share everything. Including this.’

My body broke into sobs, and she leaned in, wrapping me in her arms, our tears mixing, salty stains on our clothing.

‘We’re in this together, Lucy,’ she said. ‘I’ll still do anything to protect you.’