I loved Max dearly, of course, and had always tried to protect him from my problems. So I asked him about work. He relaxed and started explaining something I didn’t understand. As he did so, my heart started pounding.

For I decided to do something so bold that it made my legs turn to jelly.

Four

You might ask, what was my motive in driving down to Dorset? What good would it do? I had no idea. I was simply boiling with fury at Greg’s silence. If he wouldn’t speak to me, I’d give him the shock of his life when he saw me on his doorstep. Didn’t I deserve this small gratification?

I wanted to see the whites of his eyes. I wanted to hear him jabber some sort of explanation. I wanted to make him suffer at my misery and feel a lurch of remorse. I wanted to shout at him and make him cry. I wanted him to realise what he’d done and what he’d lost.

God knows.

I just wanted to see him.

Time was short. Azra would be arriving in a few days. I drove fast, overtaking lorries, cars hooting. I slewed around roundabouts, gears crashing, and hit the A303. It was mid-morning; thunderclouds piled up ahead. A motorbike roared past; on the back of the man’s jacket was printed ‘If You Can Read This the Bitch Has Fallen Off’. I’d done this journey countless times; as I sat there gripping the wheel the car seemed to be driving me, from some trace memory.

Of course, Greg might not be there. I had no idea of his movements. He could be in London with Azra; he could be anywhere.

If the cottage was empty, I had a key and could let myself in. Then what? Chop up his clothes? Set fire to the place? Do that thing with rotting prawns stuffed into the curtain-rail?

My emotions fluctuated wildly from the murderous to the mundane. Maybe I’d just make a cup of coffee and bid goodbye to it all. Have a day at the seaside, and finally put my marriage to rest.

I had no plan. I just somehow knew he would be there.

And he was.

The cottage was isolated. Our nearest neighbour was a monosyllabic farmer with vicious dogs. His son was currently in prison for child sex offences. There was nobody around and I drove past to a chorus of howls as the dogs flung themselves against the barbed wire.

I parked further down the lane, out of sight of the cottage. I wanted to surprise Greg; if he saw me he might run away, the pantywaist.

Pantywaist. Tears sprang to my eyes; I suddenly missed Azra, even her contempt. For a while I sat in the car; now I’d arrived I had a sudden attack of nerves. In fact, I nearly turned round and drove home.

It was midday. The clouds had cleared. I sat there, waiting for my heartbeat to return to normal. The lane went downhill to Mortimer’s Cove, which was tiny and basically sheer cliffs and rocks. Our cottage was halfway down, surrounded by trees and rough pasture.