A different atmosphere had entered the room. He wouldn’t call it calm, but some of the fury had gone. He asked himself: if she said sorry, if she suggested giving their relationship another try, would he agree? Sometimes, when Tom had a decision to make, he played ‘What would Conor do?’ The answer was always ‘The right thing, of course.’ This time, there was no right thing. He didn’t want to break up with Nina. He loved her. Even standing there, knowing she’d had sex with someone else, he loved her. But he had to leave. Compared to constant Conor, Tom had always been the flaky guy. Mr Inconsistent. His one certainty had been Nina. Now she was gone from him.

This wasn’t the time for reflection. He had to get moving. He touched her arm. She recoiled.

‘I’m going to pack some of my stuff,’ he said. ‘I can get the rest and sort out the bills and whatnot another day.’

‘There’s no reason to leave now,’ said Nina, a spike of panic in her voice, as though she’d suddenly realised what was happening. ‘Where will you sleep?’

‘I can crash at Fergal’s place. Or, if the worst comes to the worst, there’s always the shop.’

‘You can’t sleep there.’

‘I can do whatever I like,’ he said, as he left the room.

He walked around the bedroom. He needed … He didn’t know what he needed. He stuffed a couple of changes of underwear and some T-shirts into an old sports bag. Then he went to the bathroom and took his razor and toothbrush. He took Nina’s brush and the toothpaste too, a tiny show of spite. It occurred to him that he didn’t own very much. Almost everything in the house – from the bed linen to the TV – had been provided by Nina. He’d always believed in travelling light.

Back in the living room, she was crying, tears carving silvery tracks through her make-up. In the kitchen, something was burning.

‘Don’t go like this,’ she said. ‘Please.’

‘It’s for the best,’ he replied.

Chapter 20

The village was aglow with the news. ‘Did you hear?’ people asked. ‘Nina Minogue has left poor Tom Crossan and taken up with the documentary fellow. Julian Heaney, that’s right. His people have money, apparently. His father’s a builder, owns half of west Dublin. Emmet Minogue’s in a right state. Helen’s not much better. No, Nina hasn’t been home since she broke the news. Not that I’d blame her. That sort of behaviour won’t go down well around here, I can tell you.’