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Chapters (40)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. PENGUIN BOOKS
  4. Dedication
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. THE BEGINNING

‘Sorry,’ said Irene, entering the room, her arms full of sheets. She’d put on a thick towelling robe, belted round the waist and rolled up at the sleeves, and washed her face. Her hair was brushed back from her thin face and she smelt of lavender soap and moisturizing cream and, faintly, vomit. ‘Clemmie was sick. I had to wash her and change the sheets.’

‘I should have helped you,’ said Adrian. ‘Sorry. You should have called.’

‘Poor thing,’ said Frankie. ‘Can I do anything?’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Irene looked at the two of them sitting so close together. Her husband’s face was flushed. ‘Do you want more coffee?’

‘I’m on my way. My cab should have been here ages ago.’

And when the bell rang at the front door a few moments later Frankie pulled on her thick coat, wrapped a velvet scarf round her neck, gathered up her bag, kissed Irene goodbye on both cheeks, gripping her by her thin shoulders, and then laid one hand on the top of Adrian’s thick, hot head in casual farewell.

‘See you,’ he said amiably as she left, although it was all he could do not to groan out loud, so flooded by lust and guilt that he couldn’t tell the difference between them.

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Two

‘I think that went well,’ said Irene. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Great. Thanks. You went to a lot of trouble for me.’

‘Oh well.’ She looked down at him. ‘It was the least I could do.’

‘Thanks,’ he repeated. He looked into her candid grey eyes, with the little crow’s feet, and then at her wide mouth, the faint brackets around it.

‘Are you OK down there?’ she said.

‘Sure. Just a bit tired. Irene?’

‘Mmm.’

‘We should go away together sometime, like we used to. Before.’

‘Bed,’ she said, thinking of overdrafts, schedules, childcare, homesickness.

‘I mean it. A sunny place in February, just you and me. The kids would be all right now. It’s been so long. We could …’

‘Come on,’ she said and held out a hand. He took it, noticing that her nails were bitten to the quick and her wedding ring was loose on her finger.

‘What about the mess?’

‘Leave it. We can do it tomorrow.’