Less than a few hours ago, she had finished her cigarette and tossed the butt out of the car window while waiting for the end-of-school bell. None of the other parents would have been caught dead smoking in the car park and, ordinarily, Helena was of the same disposition, but today she had needed a nicotine fix. Bollocks to the PTA’s disapproval. They could write to her if they wanted.

Julian had missed three out of five days of school last week and she had received another letter from the head teacher, a rat-like woman in her late sixties who should have retired years ago, complaining that Ofsted now required a ninety per cent attendance record and Julian’s absenteeism was threatening the school’s outstanding rating.

Bollocks to the rat-woman, too, Helena had thought. She should try being a single parent. It was bloody hard.

And another thing had crossed her mind: bollocks to Dominique, too. His money was welcome but his condescending message to her last night hadn’t been. Just checking everything is OK? Is Julian OK? Funny how over the last ten years he had hardly been interested and then, all of a sudden, he had messaged her four times in one evening.

Now she knew why.

Just as she had been about to light another cigarette, the bell had sounded and car doors had started opening around her. She had replaced the unlit cigarette, straightened her hair in the visor mirror and got out of the Fiat, slamming the door shut behind her with just as much venom as everyone else in their Mercs and BMWs. It didn’t matter how expensive your car was, the doors always slammed the fucking same.

Helena had marched across the playground, ignoring the stares she was attracting from the other parents. By the time she had reached the front doors, happy-looking children were already piling out of the school.

How naive she had been to believe that a man ten years older than her and married to a successful CEO would leave his wife for her. Helena. A Post Office Customer Services Adviser. Dominique had come in to the store at the same time every day. Same stupid grin. Sometimes he had packages to post, sometimes he’d buy stamps. Then he started just . . . being there, and she had noticed there was something suave about him. And that Bentley he drove, with the beige leather seats that massaged you. She could have got used to that. A whole different life.

Stupid cow. Still, the product of their brief affair, Julian, had changed her life, generally for the better. Until now, when everything had come crashing down around her.