Her husband looked up, his expression hard to read. He gazed at her but didn’t reply. Connie pushed herself away from the worktop and went over to him. She was shaky and unsure, her confidence waning in the face of his continued silence. ‘Do you want me to sleep in the spare room?’ she asked quietly.

He bit his lip. She felt his indecision stretching between them, like an unfolding yardstick, pushing them further and further apart. ‘Probably best if I do,’ she added quietly.

Devan nodded, but still seemed paralysed. She turned away, only to feel his grip tight on her arm, swinging her around. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, he was kissing her. His mouth was fierce, but she welcomed it. Welcomed, too, his hands pulling her across the hall to the sitting room, to the sofa, where they fell in a heap, tearing at each other’s clothes. She was aware of his fast, rasping breath, his hands rough against her breasts, his knees pushing her legs apart. She cried out, wanting him so desperately it felt as if her life depended upon it.

They were quiet afterwards. The room had grown chilly, the heating gone off long since. Devan pulled the throw over them as they lay in each other’s arms. Connie felt tearful. This was only the beginning – she had no foolish illusions. But the sex had proved something. Not love, not forgiveness, not even lust, but something bigger than all three at this juncture: a mutual desire to break down the barriers between them. For Connie, it was enough.

Connie found she was thinking less and less about Jared. In the early days at home, Devan was her entire focus. She ignored the question of why someone as obsessed – and mentally unhinged – as Jared would suddenly decide to throw in the towel and leave her alone. If he came back into her life now, she would go straight to the police. She and Devan would go together. The power he’d wielded so successfully in the past no longer scared her.

The village – in true English fashion – pretended on the surface that nothing had happened. But Connie was insecure as she began to show her face in the streets, the shops and cafés. A glance here, a nod there, a whispered exchange between two people, all were salacious titbits about her and Jared in her paranoid mind. And perhaps in reality, too. She had to brace herself every day, before going out.

Devan, previously so conscious of his perceived humiliation, seemed almost bullish by comparison. He had her by his side again, and that seemed protection enough against the gossip. ‘Fuck ’em,’ he said, when she expressed a reluctance to go to the pub. ‘It’s none of their bloody business.’