‘Devan!’ She snatched away her hand and stopped on the corner, turning to face him, arms defiantly crossed.

‘Play along, Connie,’ he said, putting his arm around her shoulders and encouraging her gently across the road.

She reluctantly allowed him to guide her, realizing there was only one place they could be going to: the Kitsons’. She’d been hoping for a quick steak and a glass of red at the pub – Stacy’s wife, Nicole, did a mean sirloin and chips – and an early night so she could close her eyes and stop having to hide her real feelings from Devan. As her husband opened the latch on the low gate to their friends’ front garden, Connie sucked in a breath and steeled herself.

Bill greeted Connie with open arms, his broad, affable features already tinged pink, his breath redolent of whisky. She saw him wink conspiratorially at Devan as he ushered them into the kitchen.

A rose-draped banner had been strung across the row of copper pans on the far wall: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY CONNIE AND DEVAN, it said, the pink balloons tied to one end bumping each other gently in the breeze from the open French windows.

Neil and Brooks, their faces expectant along with Jill’s, were standing in a group, champagne flutes in hand. They all raised their glasses and called, ‘Congratulations!’ Connie, so engulfed in her inner confusion, felt almost assaulted by the attention – although it was obviously so well meant. She sensed herself being reeled in from a long way off, like a trout on a hook, and with the same sense of helplessness. Smile, she whispered silently, for God’s sake, smile.

Jill and Bill had gone to a lot of trouble: rosé champagne in copious quantities and a supper of marinated leg of lamb, melting pommes dauphinoise and buttered green beans was laid out in the back garden, pale pink roses in little glass vases glowing in the candlelight on the wooden table.

Connie was touched and, at any other time, would have been delighted. But tonight it felt like pressure … to be happy, to be thrilled that everything was all right with the world now that her troubled husband had seen the light. Her friends obviously were thrilled.

Halfway through the meal she got up, ostensibly to go to the loo. She didn’t need to, just wanted a moment to herself. As she reached the hall, she felt a hand on her arm. Turning, she saw Neil’s worried face.

‘What’s wrong, darling? You look like someone who’s pretending to be Connie.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Is it that obvious?’

Neil stroked her arm. ‘No, you’ve been putting on a good show. But I know something’s up. You’ve definitely been avoiding me recently.’

She sighed, biting her lip to stop herself crying. ‘I’ve been away a lot.’

Neil put his head on one side, waiting.