With trepidation, I hold the stair rail and lower myself onto the top step. Every single creak, every single breath, sounds magnified in the silence. I pause after each couple of steps and listen. By the time I approach the bottom, I’m rigid with tension.

The shrill ring of the landline jolts through me like an electric shock. I stumble down the last few steps, frustration and fear like a physical pain in my chest. Fuck! There’s no way he’ll sleep through that.

For a few seconds, I’m paralyzed by indecision. Either I leave right now in my pajamas, knowing that Ross will wake up and find me gone almost straightaway, maybe even come running after me, or I answer the phone myself and make out I was on my way down for a glass of water.

But it’s too late. The phone stops ringing and I hear Ross’s voice from upstairs. The bedroom door opens and the landing light comes on. Shit! I should have just gone while I had the chance.

Suddenly, he’s at the top of the stairs. I head for the kitchen, heart thumping. I’m going to have to wait till morning now, when he’s gone to work. I should have done that anyway. It’s madness to be creeping about like this in the middle of the night like some kind of criminal, but the urge to leave was overwhelming. It still is. It isn’t till I’m standing at the kitchen sink that I realize I still have the bulging tote bag over my shoulder.

I open the cupboard where we keep the saucepans and stuff it right at the back, out of sight. Then I quickly run the cold tap and take a glass from the draining board, hands shaking so much it’s a miracle I don’t drop it.

Ross comes downstairs and into the kitchen. He’s listening intently, with only the occasional interjection of a “Yes, I see, thank you,” or “Okay.” At last, the call finishes. He drops the phone into the pocket of his dressing gown and rubs his hands over his face.

“That was the nursing home,” he says. His voice is weary and resigned. “My dad’s just died.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry.” The words are automatic, because I am sorry. Whatever lies Ross has told me, this isn’t one of them. His relationship with his father was complicated, I know that. But I’ve heard it said that loss can hit a person harder in such cases and, by the look on his face, that’s true.