Tessa brushed off Connie’s thanks. ‘You did me a huge favour too. I was so dreading the first Christmas without Martin, and your being here in the run-up was the perfect diversion.’

‘Nothing like the McCabe soap opera …’

Tessa’s face fell. ‘Are you and Devan going to be all right?’

Connie shrugged. ‘We’ve been talking a lot. Sometimes it seems almost like old times, and we begin to relax with each other. Then other times, one of us says something, or remembers something, and it’s like the temperature drops by ten degrees. We fall apart.’

Tessa gave her another hug. ‘Well, stick in there. It’ll be worth it in the long run.’

Connie knew she was right. But the effort she and Devan had to make to get back on track seemed sometimes insurmountable. There was a long road ahead on which she knew she would have to tiptoe round her husband’s hurt without a fuss. It was Connie who was on the back foot, and she accepted that. She had apologized so many times it was becoming almost comical. The apologies were heartfelt, but they appeared to be having no effect. Devan seemed to be waiting for her to say something in particular that would finally expunge his anguish. But she knew there was only one thing that might eventually do that: time.

Then one day in mid-January, two weeks after they’d begun talking, Devan had thrown something out, almost casually, at the end of his nightly phone call. ‘You can’t stay at Tessa’s for ever, presumably?’

Connie had known immediately what he was really asking. It was a balancing act, though. She didn’t want to push him. Or seem needy. Part of her was extremely anxious at the thought of going home, having to walk on eggshells, the imbalance his constant hurt would bring to their relationship. There would be village gossip to contend with, as well. But she longed with every bone in her body to be home again. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘She says I can stay as long as I like, but she’s just being kind.’

There was silence. Connie waited.

‘I’m thinking of coming up at the weekend,’ Devan said, with the same studied nonchalance. ‘If you think it’s a good idea, I could pick you up on the way back?’

After a moment’s hesitation, Connie said, ‘I’d like that.’

And there it was. No drama. Nothing really said. Nothing conceded. Just a tentative invitation to start again. She found, as she clicked off from Devan’s call, that a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Whatever the problems to come, Devan had shown her that he still loved her. That, despite all that had happened, he wanted her back.