‘With the benefit of hindsight, probably not,’ he says. ‘But back then, when I couldn’t see a way out, I thought I’d be called a liar, that I’d lose all contact with the children and then I’d be even more isolated than I already was.’

I nod, understanding his predicament.

‘So I decided that the life I had with her was better than the life she would construct for me if I left.’

‘But her taking a lover gave you the impetus to do what you wanted to do . . .’

He nods fervently. ‘It was what I’d been waiting for,’ he says. ‘It meant that everyone else could finally see the cracks in the picture-perfect version she presented. His other half found out and suddenly people at my wife’s gym, church choir and the stables where she keeps her horse were gossiping about it.’

He moves the cushion aside and pushes himself up and off the couch, stretching his arms towards the wooden slatted ceiling.

‘I got a new bed delivered yesterday and I woke up with chronic back pain this morning. It’s Sod’s Law that just when I’m allowed to sleep, I’m still unable to.’

‘It’ll probably take you a while to get used to it,’ I say.

‘You’re probably right,’ he says. ‘It just needs to be broken in.’

I can’t stop my skin from flushing as I picture him falling back against fluffy pillows. A woman rolls into him, resting her head on his chest, and it’s only as he brushes her brunette hair away from her face that I see it’s me.

‘What have you got planned for the rest of the week?’ I ask, in an effort to change the subject.

‘Well, actually, I got a text from a very old friend yesterday – someone I haven’t seen in years, asking if we can meet up tomorrow.’

‘That’ll be nice,’ I say.

He grimaces. ‘Mmm, I don’t think so,’ he says. ‘He told me he’s terminally ill.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I offer, never knowing quite what the right thing to say is. ‘It’s so sad it’s taken that to rekindle your friendship.’

‘Well, Kyle was more my wife’s friend than mine,’ he says. ‘But we always got along – until she severed the relationship.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘I’ve always had my suspicions,’ he says. ‘Which I fear are about to be realized – he said he had something to tell me.’

‘That he doesn’t want to take to his grave with him?’ I ask, careful to curb my mounting alarm. Jacob’s still on very shaky ground and the last thing he needs is someone to come along and throw a hand grenade at his feet. Especially if it’s just to assuage their own guilt by burdening him with it instead.

‘Mmm,’ he murmurs thoughtfully.