‘I don’t know. Suzi, do you . . . ?’ I knew what he was going to ask, and was ready with my lie.

‘Of course I love you. I just – I’m messed up. I was so lonely out here, and I felt like you hated me.’ He nodded, as if seeing my point. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m no good – I don’t know why I do these things. But it’s not just about us now, is it?’ I placed my hands on my belly.

His face was open and vulnerable. ‘Suze, please just tell me – is he mine, the baby?’

This time I was faster. ‘Of course. With him I always . . . I never . . . It has to be yours.’ It was a lie, but Nick seemed to swallow it. In fact, I had always felt it was your baby, based on my ovulation apps and how hard I’d tried to avoid going near Nick in the fertile time, but it seemed he had been one step ahead of me there. Maybe the baby was his after all.

He stood up, taking away the dirty stew bowls. I’d eaten all mine, like a good girl. And it might have been alright, I might have rescued the situation, and we might have found a way to muddle through before I could safely divorce him, if the erratic mobile phone reception around our cottage hadn’t chosen that precise moment to kick in. My phone, which I saw now was on the counter, charging, vibrated, shuddering across the marble worktop. A text. Nick frowned.

‘What’s that?’

Stop, no, please. I knew with certainty it was a message that would ruin everything. But I could hardly tell him not to read it, and he did, picking up the phone, and his face changed. Gone was the tenderness, the sadness. In its place, cold, glittering rage.

‘So you told me the whole truth, did you?’

Oh my God. Who was it from? Dr Holt would know not to text me, wouldn’t he, so it had to be—

‘Fucking Damian.’

He flung the phone on the table, where it landed with a heavy thunk. I read the message in a flash. It was a reply to the angry email I’d sent him, the one I’d known was a mistake. Er dunno what you mean. I’m not the one who came to see you babe am I.

Oh God oh God. I hadn’t changed my number since we worked together. Texts still popped up on a locked screen – Nick would have found it suspicious otherwise. Why hadn’t it occurred to me Damian might text back instead of emailing? Oh Christ.

‘You went to see him? You used my money for that?’

‘I – weird stuff was happening. I thought maybe it was him. I couldn’t think who else – I didn’t know it was you.’