Later, she tipped out the now-cold coffee from the mug and poured in still-hot water from the kettle. Wrapped in the thin sheet from the bed, she sipped at the plain water. A lemon from the fruit basket caught her eye and she let her gaze linger on it longingly. But there was no chance now; the loss of control over the stupid sugar had ruined any chance of a tiny treat.

She drank the bland water that tasted of nothing and accepted it for the punishment it was.

Chapter 18

Paula finally found Tommy in the basement bar. It was a place they hadn’t visited except to pass through, simply because it literally was just a basement, with no windows or views out to sea.

She stood in the doorway and looked around. It was gloomy, dimly lit, and could be any underground bar one might find in the city. Depressing, she realised now, and a glance at her husband told her that he was drowning his sorrows.

Hope pierced her. He wasn’t with that woman; wasn’t in her bed making love and drinking champagne from her welcome hamper. And he hadn’t sought solace with his mates; there was no sign of Dermot or Angus or any of the other men who had suddenly become his bosom buddies.

Apart from him, the room was empty, and feeling brave due to the lack of audience, she walked over to the bar. He heard her approach, his head snapping up and round. Was it just her imagination, or did he look disappointed when he realised she wasn’t Anna? She shook her head a little to banish the thought and slipped onto the bar stool next to him.

There was a long silence, and he turned back to nurse his whisky.

‘Do you want a drink?’ he asked, grudgingly it seemed to her, but at least he’d spoken.

‘Yes, please,’ she said softly.

He gestured to the bartender, ordered a vodka and soda without asking her. The bartender slid it over to her, his eyes lingering on the pair of them before he retired to wipe glasses in the shadow at the far end of the counter.

Paula sipped at her drink, biting the straw to stop herself apologising first. Tommy said nothing. Behind the bar, the second hand on an oversized clock ticked around and around.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually.

Stony-eyed, he looked straight ahead.

She put a hand on his wrist. ‘I am sorry,’ she repeated, and as she said the words for the second time, she hated herself a little.

He shrugged and sighed. ‘Okay,’ he muttered.