She wanted to confide in someone, but didn’t know who. Everybody seemed disgustingly content. ‘Are you looking forward to Christmas?’ they asked. What would they do if she told the truth and said she was dreading it? She thought of Conor. He’d always provided a sympathetic ear. Their last proper chat had been during the summer when he’d been asking questions about Father Galvin. Since then, she’d heard no mention of the case. She assumed he’d abandoned his efforts. She’d been close to calling him, then changed her mind. She didn’t want to come across as needy, the friend who was always looking for something.

Now, as she paced the sitting room, Nina realised that she couldn’t allow Julian to saunter off on holidays without a word of protest. Her birthday was in two days’ time. She would be forty-eight. She didn’t want to be forty-bloody-eight. The mad part was, she’d spent many of those years urging people not to make a big deal of her birthday. No cake. No party. No surprises. Faced with spending the day alone, she appreciated her mistake. She would have liked some fuss, after all. Well, not fuss so much as … companionship, solidarity, affection. Human connection.

Over the course of her marriage, Nina had become skilled at turning a blind eye. But everyone has a breaking point. It was, she thought, like water dripping onto rock. Given enough time, the rock will wear away.

She went upstairs to find Julian finishing his packing. Without saying anything, she plucked his washbag from the bed and began tossing its contents around the room. His toothbrush landed in one corner, his shaving foam in another. His nail clippers went slithering behind the head of the bed. A deodorant whizzed past his left ear. Tempted as she was to fling it straight at him, she didn’t want to risk giving the louse a black eye.

‘Hey!’ he said. ‘Stop it, will you? I was about to pack those. I’m running tight on time.’

She lobbed a box of antacids against the wardrobe. ‘Why are you pretending that this holiday is with the lads? I know you’re going with her.’

‘Ah, come on,’ said Julian, ‘this is stupid. Give me the bag.’

A tube of toothpaste sailed over his head. ‘I asked you a question.’

‘Okay, I’m going for a short break with her … with Emer. Now, can you quit acting like a kid?’

Nina picked up the prize-winning novel he’d been pretending to read and aimed it at the chest of drawers. She scored a direct hit on their wedding photo. It landed on the floor with a satisfying clunk.

‘Do you know how much I gave up for you?’ She was appalled by how congested, how faltering, her voice sounded. She couldn’t allow herself to cry.