Connie sat up straight. She still hadn’t touched her wine, although Devan had drained his. ‘And what did you conclude?’ she asked coolly, sick of the whole thing and furious about all the pointless effort she’d put in to help him over the hump of retirement, the worry she’d invested in his health – mental and physical – the numerous times she’d reached out to him and been rebuffed. None of the support she’d offered had been, as he suggested, a selfish act on her part, but because she loved him and hated seeing him so diminished. In return he was bullying her until she did what he wanted, bundling her into a retirement for which she wasn’t yet ready.

When he didn’t reply, she said, ‘OK. So, hypothetically, what would happen if I did decide to retire at the end of the season?’

‘What would happen?’ He seemed puzzled by the question.

‘You finally get me where you want me, Devan. What next?’ She glared at him. ‘Seeing as you don’t even seem to like me any more.’

Now it was his turn to appear confused. ‘Of course I like you, Connie,’ he said, blinking nervously. ‘We’d … we’d start again, wouldn’t we? Recalibrate our lives.’

I don’t want to recalibrate my life, she muttered silently. But aloud she said, ‘And do what? You keep banging on about travelling, but we can’t afford to, not all the time. Would you do this history degree you’re talking about? Or take off sailing? Both things you could do right now, of course, if you were serious.’

His expression hardened. ‘No need to be spiteful.’

Neither spoke, both trapped in their own affront.

Connie was the first to back down. ‘Devan, please,’ she begged. ‘What are we doing? This is stupid.’ She shuffled her chair closer and put her arm across his shoulders, which made him look around self-consciously at the other drinkers who’d been accumulating in the low-ceilinged snug during the course of their row.

Shrugging her off, he picked up his glass. ‘I need another drink.’

He could have drunk hers, but he obviously wanted a break from the conversation. She watched him as he leaned on the bar, chatting amiably with Stacy as if nothing were awry, then had a smiling exchange with one of their neighbours. Charming to everyone in the world but me, she thought sadly. She got up. There was no point sitting here torturing each other. She didn’t tell him she was going, didn’t say goodbye. She’d never walked out on him in public like this before – never needed to.