‘It’s not like that. Bill said he was just a bit low, that’s all.’

‘Which he is. And has been, even long before he retired.’ She paused, not wanting to seem too defensive. ‘But I’m glad he’s got Bill to talk to. He won’t talk to me.’

‘I think Bill sympathizes because he panics if I’m away for even a night … even bloody breakfast!’

When Connie couldn’t bring herself to respond, hearing only the censure – intended or not – in her friend’s remark, Jill spoke again. ‘You two have such a great marriage, Connie.’ She laughed. ‘Remember that time we went to the Western Isles? The ceilidh? Devan claimed he could do the proper Scottish thing, hopping about and pointing his toes and waving his arms in the air.’ Connie smiled. She did remember. ‘Then he dragged you onto the dance floor and somehow, together, you managed to make it really work – although you didn’t have a clue what you were doing, you said – and the pub went wild, clapping and cheering your efforts.’

‘I didn’t,’ Connie said, ‘but I’ve always loved to dance. God, that night was fun.’ She heard the wistful note in her voice and Jill must have too.

‘You’re so good together, Connie.’ She gave her an encouraging smile. ‘I’m sure you’ll sort it out.’

When they arrived at Jill’s rambling thatched cottage, Connie excused herself, refusing her friend’s offer of tea and one of her famous madeleines. She couldn’t face any more discussion about her marriage. Not least because, although Jill had not said as much, she could tell her sympathy – Bill’s too – was tipping in Devan’s favour. After all, Jill was retired and clearly loving it. She probably couldn’t see the problem. Jill, Bill, even Neil … they’re sort of implying I’m on the wrong foot about my job, she thought, after she’d said goodbye to Jill. Not for the first time, she wondered if they were right.

Her phone rang as she was walking home. Her sister, Lynne. The very last person she wanted to speak to right now.

‘Connie, it’s me, Lynne,’ she said, never having grasped that her name came up on Connie’s screen. ‘I’ll be there about four, if that’s OK?’

Connie gulped. She’d entirely forgotten that Lynne was staying the night, en route from Aberystwyth to give a lecture at Southampton University. ‘Great,’ she replied, with a forced enthusiasm she hoped her sister wouldn’t detect. ‘See you later.’

She was glad Devan would be late: he and Lynne had never got on. Lynne had called Devan ‘Dr God’ in the early days. She thought him too handsome, too pleased with himself. But she’d been dismissing Connie’s choices since they were both small.