Not particularly, she conceded, driving grimly out of their cul-de-sac. But she had reached the point where she couldn’t not know any more. She was so desperate to have her suspicions proved wrong that stalking her husband this way had come to seem acceptable, rather than weird or creepy. Needs must. There would almost certainly be a good reason for John’s subterfuge anyway, right? A perfectly normal, plausible reason. And she’d find this out by following him, and could then breathe a sigh of relief, chastise herself for letting her imagination run away with her and go home again. That was the plan. Who knew, they might even end up laughing about this one day!

According to her phone screen, John was still heading towards town. The app had promised discretion – The one you are watching need never know you can see them! its description had declared – and it reminded her of playing a spy game as a child, cat-and-mouse. He was parking in the Peel Street car park, she saw and hung back, circling the block a few times, waiting for him to leave again before she went in. I’m onto you, John. I’m right behind you.

His marker was now moving more slowly along Piccadilly towards the main shopping area, she saw. Having parked herself, a safe distance from his car, she broke into a jog to keep up with him, trotting over the river and getting caught up in the crowds of Saturday shoppers. John, where are you going? she thought as he cut down side streets and turned corners. Then the marker stopped again, this time on Stonegate. Had he gone into a shop? she wondered, hurrying that way. A café? A pub? Was he buying something nice for her as a surprise? Going for a job interview, even?

Her adrenalin was really racing as she scuttled up the road. She remembered playing ‘Hunt the Thimble’ at Brownies, where those in the know would call out to let you know how near or far you were from the hidden thimble. Getting warmer . . . Warmer still . . . Cold again. Freezing! Ah . . . getting warmer again now. Warm. Hot! Really hot! Boiling boiling hot!

The chant went up in her head as she drew closer and closer. Warmer. Warmer still! There was the marker flashing encouragingly on her screen in its same spot. Hot. Hot! She was almost there, one building away from him. She could hardly breathe with the anticipation. What was he doing? What was he doing?

The next building along was the Plant Café, a trendy vegetarian bistro, full of students and young people usually. Definitely not the sort of place where John ‘Meat-and-Two-Veg’ Mortimer would normally hang out. Definitely not the sort of place he’d be applying for a job, either. Boiling boiling hot, she thought grimly. This was it, the moment of revelation. Did she really want to know after all?