He inhaled deeply and turned the key in the lock, then slipped quickly through the door and shut it, a security habit he couldn’t shake. Down the hallway, he could hear Romy’s voice. By her animated tone, he guessed she was talking to a female friend on the phone. Probably her old school friend Renée, or her thesis supervisor, Marie.

He rounded the corner and saw her stirring something on the stovetop. She still stirred him, this compact, sexy woman—even now, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, her blonde hair pulled into a hasty topknot—and always doing two things at once. He kissed her on the cheek and she smiled, gestured that she was just winding up the call. De Payns threw his keys and phone on the counter and grabbed a bottle of riesling from the fridge. He poured two glasses and made for the sofa, sinking deep into it with a sigh.

The wine was good and the TV news was on, but muted. One of his wife’s multi-tasking habits. A woman on the screen announced a story and an update scrolled along the bottom of the screen: France will explore new trade deal with Iran—Macron.

Romy rang off, brought her wine over and kneeled on the sofa to kiss him on the lips. When she pulled back, de Payns saw the smile that reached her green eyes.

‘I cooked for two—we must be psychic,’ she said, rubbing a thumb along his forehead.

De Payns smiled. From their first dates, when he was still a fighter pilot, they’d attributed even the smallest coincidence or happenstance to their psychic connection.

‘You okay?’ she asked.

‘Tired,’ said de Payns. Something was niggling at him. He knew what it was but he didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now. ‘How are the kids?’

‘Ready for the holidays to be over,’ said Romy. ‘Oliver is counting the sleeps until school starts. He’s drawn a calendar and everything.’

De Payns chuckled, trying to keep the good vibes going. But he couldn’t do it. ‘Who was that on the phone?’

‘My new friend,’ said Romy. ‘Ana, a mother from Oliver’s preschool.’

De Payns nodded. ‘Ana? When did you meet her?’

‘I’ve seen her a few times at the park and at preschool,’ said Romy, tensing. ‘She’s invited us for drinks.’

De Payns’ pulse thumped in his temples. ‘So, she’s married?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What’s her surname?’

‘Alec!’ Romy’s pretty face darkened.

‘So, she has your number but we don’t know her name?’

Romy stood. ‘You agreed to not do this. We agreed! You set the rules but you don’t manage my every move.’

‘Who initiated the conversation?’ asked de Payns, now committed.

Romy picked up her glass and walked to the kitchen, shaking her head. ‘It’s preschool. The kids initiated a friendship.’

She swallowed some wine and stirred the pot.