All right, deep breath. She had come this far, she had to at least look, she told herself, and edged gingerly towards the café window to peer inside.

Shit, there he was, taking a seat at a table, and she dodged back hurriedly so that he wouldn’t see her. Okay, it was all right, he had his back to her, she saw, peeping around again. And there sitting opposite him was . . .

Her heart seemed to seize in panic. A groan of anguish escaped her lips. Oh, why had she come here, why had she looked? When she had known deep down, all along, that this was what she might discover? Of course he wasn’t going for a job interview on a Saturday afternoon. Of course he wasn’t out buying her surprise presents! ‘You absolute shit,’ she muttered under her breath, fists clenching by her side.

Because opposite John at the café table was a girl. A young woman, rather. A woman with pale, creamy skin and a long coppery plait and a piercing in her nose. She must have been half John’s age, thought Robyn in dismay as the woman laughed at something John said, then leaned across the table to kiss him.

She swung her head away immediately – don’t look, don’t look – and walked blindly in the other direction, gulping for breath, a shot of adrenalin making her feel like she wanted to throw up; all her worst suspicions confirmed.

What a cliché. What a cheesy, naff old cliché – and yet it still hurt so badly. Oh, John, she thought in desolation, her heart shattering into tiny shocked pieces. Tell me she isn’t one of your students. Tell me that isn’t why you got sacked!

She broke into a run back towards the car park, her breath rasping. Playing golf with Dave, he’d said to her, bold as brass, but there he was with another woman, in public, in daylight, for the whole world to see. He’d lied and lied again. What other secrets was he keeping from her?

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

To say that Alison felt nervous on Saturday night was like saying the sea was wet. It was the first time in . . . well, months, possibly years actually, that she had been out of the house on a Saturday night for starters with make-up and heels on, rather than camping out in her usual spot on the sofa, telly blaring cosily, snacks at hand. As she approached the Old Bell, she couldn’t help feeling a sudden pang as she thought about her Internet group of friends who’d all be watching Casualty without her.

Not like Alison to miss a show, they’d think. Is she ill? Is she okay? Alison, are you there? they would type in concern.