Her glass was almost empty before she’d calmed and remembered that Flynn was calling there that night. Part of her wanted to confront him, to see his expression when she told him she knew about his lies and to ask him why. But it didn’t really matter. He had lied, and she could never trust him again.

It would probably be better to send him a text, say she’d changed her mind and didn’t want to see him again. Never wanted to see him again. Despite his lies, the thought saddened her.

In the end, she did nothing apart from switching off her phone. The recruitment agent said he’d ring. She didn’t want to have to explain the fiasco of an interview.

The wine glass was empty, she refilled it and this time brought the bottle to the table and sat drinking until the light began to fade. She’d no idea of the time and when the doorbell rang, her hand jerked, sloshing wine over her fingers. It trickled down her arm as she held the glass and listened to the bell sounding again. Then Flynn’s voice as he pushed open the letterbox flap and called through. He sounded vaguely puzzled rather than worried. She imagined him there, his handsome face creased as he tried to figure out what could be wrong. Maybe the wrong day, or the wrong time.

She put her glass down and crossed to the open kitchen door, straining to hear. The murmur of his voice reached her. He was probably ringing her, leaving her a message, maybe laughing at the confusion of being there when it appeared she wasn’t.

Slow, quiet steps took her to the front door, clamping down on the yell that almost escaped when he rang the doorbell again. With a lump in her throat and a pain in her chest, she rested a shoulder against the wall. He didn’t give up easily, ringing the doorbell now and then, and occasionally she heard the murmur of his voice as he left yet another message for her. Perhaps it was her imagination, but a hint of panic seemed to be creeping into his words.

It was almost an hour before she heard his footsteps move away. She rested against the door then, her wet cheek sliding against the cold uPVC, bitter sadness in every heaving breath. Anger would come, and hate too, but not until the pain of his lies had faded.

Back in the kitchen, she sat looking out the window as the solar lights came on. Pockets of light in the darkness. That’s what Flynn had been for the last two weeks, a little light in her increasingly dark life. Now he was gone.