Well, Jeanie found the energy because she loved looking after her family – that was the simple answer, even if, truth be told, the get-togethers took their toll on her these days, wiping her out afterwards with the exhaustion of all that shopping and baking and hosting. Not that she would ever admit it to anyone other than Harry, of course. No, because it was always worth it.

Oh, Harry, she thought unhappily, turning over in the huge bed and hugging one of the spare pillows to herself. His infidelity, his betrayal seemed to have severed her from all of that now. Whatever had possessed him to jeopardize the family in such a terrible way? Why had he gone looking elsewhere for attention, into the arms of this other woman, when she, Jeanie, had always loved him so completely? He had quite broken her heart. He had broken the family too. How could she go back and face them all when her marriage was in ruins, when the future seemed so fraught with uncertainty? Would the family ever be able to enjoy a party or Sunday dinner together in the same way, after this revelation? She and Harry had been a twosome for so long, had weathered so many storms between them, but this – this felt like a hurricane. One of those awful ones you saw on the news that wrecked everything in its path: trees, houses, lives, all tossed aside.

She was dreading tomorrow when the holiday would be over. Being here had been like escaping into a brightly lit bubble of temporary pleasures, far from the pain and embarrassment left behind at home. A bubble where she was looked after and cosseted, where she was protected from the pain of real life. But tomorrow, it ended. Tomorrow, she’d have to pack her bags, hand back the key to her room and then catch the bus to the airport, where she would wait, drearily, resignedly, for her flight home. She’d have to face Harry’s grovelling apologies, maybe even at the Arrivals gate at the other end, if he was really desperate to creep back into her good books. And then, once home, she’d have the prospect of being confronted with every last gossip on the street, their faces lighting up as they spotted her, flocking in like iron filings to a magnet. Oh, you wait – the news would already have whipped between the neighbours like wildfire, Chinese whispers from house to house. (Have you heard? He’s got a secret love-child. Yes, Harry Mortimer. Who would have thought? She left him at the airport, you know. She did!)