Normally he would speed through from his bedroom to swallow a cup of coffee, eat a slice of toast and marmalade – although since she’d stopped making it for him, he’d stuck to just coffee – before heading off for another long day. But that morning, almost as if he knew something was up, he had forgone even coffee and immediately grabbed his coat from the hook, keen to be away.

‘I’m going to stay at the cottage for a while,’ she began, hearing her voice tremble.

Michael stopped as he straightened his coat collar and frowned at her. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I love it down there,’ was all she managed to reply, even though she had spent the previous six weeks preparing an elaborate speech for this moment.

‘In January? Seriously? It’ll be freezing … and fucking miserable.’ Her husband turned away and picked up his bulging briefcase, as if that were the end of the conversation.

‘I know, but I’m going anyway.’ She heard her voice take on a resoluteness that had not been there before. And Michael heard it too.

‘What are you on about, Romy?’

She took a breath, feeling her belly fluttering with anxiety. ‘I think it’s best we have a break, live separately for a while.’ Michael’s dark eyes narrowed, never leaving her face. ‘We haven’t spoken for days. It’s not as if we spend any time together any more,’ Romy added.

Her husband did a double-take. ‘Wait … You’re leaving me? Is that what you’re trying to say?’ He shook his head in apparent incomprehension. ‘Listen, I’m late. Not the best time to drop a bombshell like this.’ Opening the front door, he turned, a frown on his face. She didn’t know if he was shocked, or puzzled, or simply annoyed. ‘See you later,’ Michael stated, as if she hadn’t spoken.

And she found herself replying, ‘OK,’ because suddenly she felt ridiculous and small.

As soon as the door slammed behind him, she burst into tears. But as the day wore on and she began to anticipate how she would explain to Michael what she felt, she realized she wouldn’t be able to. He would twist her words, make her feel she was overreacting, probably talk her out of her plan without making any concessions on his part – or even, she thought, properly acknowledging how bad things had become.

So after lunch she packed her clothes and drove down to the cottage by the sea. Once there, she didn’t rest until she had unpacked her stuff, gone to the supermarket, made supper and opened a bottle of wine – settled in, in a very deliberate manner. But her eye was always on the clock as she waited for the time when Michael might come home and find her gone. The evening ticked by, her stomach churning, and there was no call.