But then, hadn’t I known it, deep down, that something was wrong? That someone as strong and brilliant as him could not die on a clear country road? As mad as it seemed, something about it chimed in me, like the thud of feet against solid rock. In the swirling currents of my husband’s lies, was this the actual truth?

After a moment, Conway came back in with a smeared glass half-full of water. ‘You’re not going to faint, are you?’

‘No.’ I sucked in lungfuls of the foetid air. When I could speak, I said, ‘Tell me everything you know. Tell me now.’

Suzi

Suzi

I had never been to a nursing home before. One set of grandparents, my dad’s, were dead long before I could remember, and Mum’s were both vigorously alive in Scotland, going on coach holidays to Edinburgh and availing themselves of day trips bought with Nectar points. I had been planning to take the baby to see them once it arrived, a small act of normalcy that seemed a million miles away now. I couldn’t imagine a time after this, when the mess I’d made of my life was somehow straightened out.

I had worried it would be hard to talk our way into the home, but after Dr Holt had a quick word with the receptionist, we strolled right in. Perhaps being a doctor, like being pregnant, also got you special privileges.

The room was pleasant, filled with light and looking out over the sea. A few elderly people sat in wicker chairs, some with blankets, some staring into space or doing crosswords, and classical music was being piped in. I was sure there were worse places to spend your last days. Nora’s mother – Diana Treadway, née Halscombe – sat by the window, staring out at the restless grey waves. My heart began to pound. What would I say to her? Hello, I know your daughter and I slept with her husband? Also, she told me you were dead?

‘Mrs Treadway?’ I faltered. Dr Holt hung back, nodding encouragement. She turned her face to me, and I saw, as the light caught her, that one side of it was almost entirely burned away.

She wasn’t always lucid, the nurse had said. Good days and bad days, that common euphemism. She had lived in the home for over twenty years, since she was in her forties. Since the fire. She wasn’t even that old, but her life had effectively ended on the same day she lost half of her family.

‘How did it happen?’ I asked her, squatting on a low stool beside her. ‘I’m sorry. It must be painful.’