‘It doesn’t have to be like this,’ he says. ‘You can make all this stop, Stacey.’

She turns her head aside, refusing to look at him.

He shoves his leg between her thighs, forcing them apart. Her expensive dress rides up and bunches around her waist. He holds her arms above her head against the mattress and puts his mouth against her ear.

‘Tell me this is what you want,’ he whispers.

‘I want it,’ she pants.

He hits her. Not her face: he knows better than that. He punches her stomach, where the marks can’t be seen. He’s always careful to make sure her bruises can be hidden with a long-sleeved blouse or a high-necked sweater. He’s never broken a bone or left her needing stitches. She’s never had a black eye she’s had to explain away, laughing as she insists that yes, she really did walk into a door.

Felix is a good man. He’s never cheated on her. He doesn’t smoke, or drink to excess, or burn through her money. He doesn’t belittle her in public, or embarrass her. He’d do anything to make her happy: he’s proved that a thousand times. He’s been a wonderful father to Archie. All her friends envy her. They have a beautiful home, a glamorous lifestyle, a wonderful life.

She’s lucky to have him.

They’re lucky to have each other.

Every relationship has its ups and downs. This aspect of their marriage, this shameful, violent, unhappy side, is a small price to pay for an otherwise perfect partnership.

Their counsellor – they don’t go any more, it just seemed to make things worse – their counsellor said their relationship is codependent. What that means, he told them, is that one partner, the codependent one, feels worthless unless they’re needed by – and making extreme sacrifices for – the other partner, the enabler, who’s only too glad to receive their sacrifices. It takes two to tango, he said.

Stacey doesn’t understand why that’s a problem. Surely if two people have a relationship that makes them both happy, that’s a good thing?

Except she’s not happy: not any more.

Ever since Archie went off to boarding school, things between them have escalated. Their son’s absence has allowed them to fight without boundaries. They don’t have to wait till he’s asleep and keep their voices down as they tear into each other behind closed doors. It’s almost as if they’ve come to relish the chance to plumb the depths of their sickness together.

Her head slams violently against the headboard.

It’s not rape if she’s complicit.

Afterwards, Felix cries. He cradles her against him and murmurs how sorry he is and covers her bruises with tender kisses. This has to stop, he says, we have to stop this, I can’t keep doing this to you. We need help.