Jared is living in the village. She tested the words, unable to believe what she was hearing in her own head. Mentally, she began the journey to his house. Walk down to the corner, past the pub, turn right, then left through the small arcade of boutiquey shops, and the cottage was across the road, sandwiched between two identical ones. It was pretty, red brick with cooking-apple-green painted window surrounds and front door. A large bright yellow mahonia was flowering by the gate, the garden tidy and mature. Connie knew it: she walked past regularly, taking Riley for a walk. She’d watched the progress of the renovation, even chatted to Dougie, the young guy doing most of the work.

‘Connie?’ Devan was waving his hand in front of her face. ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?’

She came to as if from a dream. ‘Sorry …’

‘Are you OK? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.’

She tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled cough. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, making a huge effort to compose her features.

Devan looked sceptical, but obviously his stomach took precedence over his curiosity. ‘Shall we get going? I’m starving.’

Images of Jared seated on a bar stool, chatting cosily to Stacy, came to mind.

‘Can we not do Skittles today?’

‘Oh … I had my eye on one of Nicole’s chicken pies.’

‘It’s just we always go there.’

‘Fair enough. Where do you fancy, then?’

Connie’s mind was blank. All she could think of was getting as far from Jared as possible. ‘Umm, what about … There’s the Pig?’

Devan’s face lit up. ‘Good plan. We haven’t been there in ages.’ Then he glanced at his phone. ‘Will they still be serving lunch? It’s a good twenty minutes’ drive.’

I don’t care if they are or not, she wanted to shout at him. Her stomach was so knotted, she doubted she’d be able to choke down even a mouthful of food, anyway. She felt on the verge of tears again, but knew she had to pull herself together. This was not going away. He was not going away.

Being with her husband was agony. Connie wanted to hug him close, whisk him away, rescue him from the mire into which she feared he was about to fall. Because even if Jared did as he promised and never told a living soul their secret, Connie knew. She would need to pretend, constantly pretend, always wondering what little thing he might be divulging – and to whom – that would blow her world apart. The toll was incalculable. Devan would notice. He would suffer accordingly. Unless I can persuade Jared to leave, she thought, now, as Devan tucked into his beef brisket sandwich and she played with a fishcake on a bed of puréed spinach.