She drank her wine quickly, greedily. It occurred to me that maybe she was nervous too. ‘Of course. Too little mystery in the world.’

Nick cleared his throat. I brought over the olives and we arranged ourselves around them, grateful for any little prop. ‘So where were you before, Nora?’

‘Oh, just in town. We had a big house there, but on my own it seemed too empty. I’ve always liked cottages.’

‘Yes, we just fell in love with it here, didn’t we, Suze? I always dreamed of living in an old house.’

It’s a strange experience, hearing your spouse talk to a complete stranger. You want to shout out, That isn’t true! You never told me that! Like a test you don’t understand why you’re failing.

‘So what took you out of London?’ Nora said. Nick gave her the usual spiel – we wanted space for our kids to grow up, to breathe clean air, slower pace of life – but she kept staring at me. ‘Did you mind giving up your job, Suzi?’

‘Oh! Not really – I’ve got time to paint, and that’s what I always wanted.’ I was saying my lines as expected. Nick was watching. My director. It was true I used to complain all the time about my boss, the tampon and cornflakes ads I designed, the lack of time for painting. But I liked the salary and boozy lunches and being able to sink thirty quid on wine if I felt like it. I’d long suspected I wasn’t cut out for the privations of the artist’s life. Suddenly, under Nora’s frank gaze, I found myself wanting to be honest. ‘It has been a big change, actually. It’s hard.’

‘Sometimes a change is what’s needed,’ said Nick, his eyes fixed on me. ‘Suze was going down a bad path in London.’ I looked up sharply. He wouldn’t, would he? ‘Drinking too much, staying out late with colleagues. Weren’t you, baby?’ He reached out and tousled my hair, a little too roughly.

I stood up, on the pretence of looking for more olives. ‘You know how it is. London culture.’

Nick laughed. ‘And yet I was there too, Nora, and I never stayed out late.’

‘He’s a home bird,’ I said, aiming for affectionately teasing, and missing.

‘One of us had to be.’

More silence, and I began to curl my fingers into a fist, it was so unbearable.

‘Might I use your bathroom?’ said Nora, no doubt wanting to get away from the knife-cut tension in the room.

‘Of course, let me show you.’ Nick got up.

‘I’ll just . . . check on dinner.’ In the kitchen, I realised I was shaking. I was thinking about Damian again, when I’d tried not to for so long. Had that been Nick’s intention, to throw me off balance?