‘You still love me, don’t you?’ His voice was tinged with anxiety now.

‘Of course I love you,’ she whispered, the words springing from somewhere deeper than conscious thought.

The meal she had put together so absentmindedly, her thoughts elsewhere, lay untouched on the table as they sat on in weary silence. Devan got up but seemed not to know what to do next. She saw him eyeing the wasted food. ‘It’ll do for tomorrow,’ she said.

The silence continued as they packed away the stew, cleared the kitchen and made their way slowly up to bed. Connie wanted to cry, but not to have to explain why to Devan: it was for the sheer weight of her betrayal and of everything that had gone wrong between them.

But as Connie climbed into bed, catching her husband’s tentative smile in the half-light, her heart softened. I love him, she reminded herself. As she reached to kiss him, she managed to stop any thoughts of Jared. He was another time, another place. Tonight, she was here in the room with Devan. His embrace was tender and comforting. It was about a long-held familiarity, a potent reminder of all that he meant to her … how precious that was. And Connie gave herself up to it without question.

As she lay sleepily in the darkness, she knew there was still a great deal between them that they needed to face. Lying quietly in each other’s arms, feeling the soft kisses he laid on her forehead – not asking for more – had brought her back to Devan’s side for the first time in months. She hoped they could build on that now.

A few days later, Connie watched as Neil grimaced, his bare feet meeting the cold rock. It was six in the morning and he’d swung by Connie’s house just before five. Although it was early August, the air was cool and the clouds heavy with impending rain. Just how they liked it. There was no adventure to be had plunging into a river in the blazing sun with half the country for company. As usual, Neil had brought coffee in insulated cups and Connie had nursed hers, still half asleep, as Neil drove his 4x4 south along the M5. Neither spoke during the journey to the river, the silence peaceful between friends.

The river, full after a week of rain, was rusty-brown and frothing as it roiled over the rocks that spanned it. This place was called Salmon Leap – for obvious reasons – and was one of their favourite wild-swimming haunts.

‘Looks a bit fierce,’ Connie commented, as she stripped off her clothes and laid them on the grass. They swam naked – one of life’s great pleasures – so they always arrived early, hoping not to put any unsuspecting fisherman off his cheese-sandwich breakfast, but the riverbank was deserted.