The conversation with Beth drummed around Robyn’s ears for the next few hours – while she was picking up the children from school, while she was preparing dinner, while she somehow navigated her way through all the usual bathtime and bedtime routines. She gave it her best shot at acting completely normally, but inside she was shell-shocked and battle-weary; numb that all this had been going on in John’s world and he’d deliberately kept her at arm’s length the whole time. Her husband, the man she loved, and he’d been leading this sleazy double life without a single glimmer of guilt, as far as she could tell. She felt so bitterly disappointed in him. So let-down. How could a couple come back from this? Was it even possible?

By nine o’clock that evening the children were in bed, the dishwasher was taking care of the dinner plates, and John was stretched out on the sofa, his hair wet where he’d showered after a run. (Had he been for a run, though? she found herself wondering upstairs, paranoid that everything he told her was now a lie.) Robyn peered at her pale face in the bedroom mirror, putting on some lipstick and brushing her hair, wishing she didn’t look quite so frightened. It was ridiculous, wasn’t it, prettying yourself up when you were about to have a showdown with your husband, but these tiny things felt like the application of armour. I am worth more, she reminded her reflection. I deserve better. He can’t treat me like this and get away with it.

‘Glass of wine?’ she called through to the living room, where John was still acting the part of everyday spouse with impressive aplomb.

‘Love one,’ he called back, swinging his bare feet up on the coffee table.

Me too, she thought darkly, sploshing cold Sauvignon Blanc into two glasses and knocking back half of hers in a single gulp. Dutch courage – bring it on. She topped up the glass, her insides clenching. If what Beth had said was true, then their whole way of life here was in jeopardy. But she really couldn’t ignore the facts any more. Who could?

‘I was wondering,’ she began, walking into the living room and lowering herself into the armchair opposite her husband. ‘Is there anything you would like to tell me, John? Anything that you need to get off your chest?’

He was laughing at something on his phone. ‘God, have you seen this on Facebook, the dancing-dog video that’s going round? Dad would love it.’ He took the glass from her. ‘Thanks. Sorry, what were you saying?’