The key to our marriage has always been honesty. My loyalty to the truth is the bedrock of our relationship. If he ever asks what I do when I’m not with him, I will tell him.

He never has.

chapter 03

tom

My wife’s very much an acquired taste. Even people who like Marmite rarely eat it out of the jar. She’s very … intense. Very focused. She likes to think she lives in the shades of grey between right and wrong, but the truth is, her moral world is very black and white.

You’re either with her or against her.

She’s not the psychopath she thinks she is. She loves fiercely and furiously, but she doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve. She’s had to fight for everything she’s achieved: the child of an abusive drunk doesn’t easily climb out of the pit. Her fists are still raised against a world that tended to hit first. She doesn’t always follow the rules – or even the law – but she has her own personal code of honour, and she sticks to it. She never lies. And she’s loyal to a fault. If she decides to fight your corner, she’s all in – whether that’s what you want or not.

To be honest, a little of Millie goes a long way. But she’s a taste I’ve been hooked on for forty years. Back in the day, Victorians used to take arsenic regularly, using it as a tonic and an aphrodisiac. Who knows: maybe my addiction will kill me in the end.

I watch her now as she gets ready for bed, smoothing some kind of goo onto her flawless skin with deft upward strokes. Millie Downton is the woman I should not have been able to get: a nine to my four. Her thick gold hair is twisted up into a loose knot, and she’s wearing a plain white T-shirt and white cotton underwear. The soft glow from the bathroom light makes her look seventeen again. We’re the same age, forty, but she looks a decade younger than me. She’s in excellent shape, thanks to daily cardio and strength-training. She has an orthodontically perfect smile, a full mouth, and wide eyes that shift in shade between dark honey and black coffee, depending on her mood. If you were casting her in a movie, Rosamund Pike would be a good choice.

She catches my eye in the mirror as she snaps the lid of her lotion bottle closed. ‘Did you have fun this afternoon?’ she asks.

I took our son to visit the Holocaust Exhibition at the Imperial War Museum. It’s not recommended for children under fourteen, but Peter said his class is doing a block on it later this term. ‘Fun isn’t the word I’d use,’ I say.

‘I’m sure Peter enjoyed it.’