I apologize to Rupert again in the morning, pressing my body against him before the alarm clock goes off and he has the chance to slide out of bed to go to work. He rolls over and kisses me hard, pulling himself on top of me, knotting his fingers through my hair until I wince.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, tracing my fingers over his cheeks, following the track his tear made. Lying by omission isn’t really lying, is it? That’s what I tell myself – that Rupert didn’t really lie; he just didn’t tell me.

‘Let’s not talk about it.’ His voice is gruff, his face scratchy with stubble, and I let him move on top of me, biting against his shoulder to stifle my cries. Later, as I watch him knot his tie and slide his feet into fancy loafers, I push myself up on my pillows and say it again. ‘I really am sorry, Rupert. I didn’t think before I spoke, but you know you can talk about Caro to me. I won’t be upset.’

‘I know.’ Rupert leans over and kisses my forehead. ‘We’ll talk about it later, OK? I’m late. And don’t forget we have that dinner tonight.’ And then he is gone in a cloud of aftershave. At least he’s wearing the Tom Ford now.

I slump back against the pillows. I had forgotten about the charity dinner tonight. It’s being hosted, as it is every year, by an important client of the company Rupert works for. Caro’s father’s company. I didn’t want to go, but Rupert told me it was expected. Rupert has to attend, and therefore I have to as his wife. I go cold at the thought of Caro’s social media photos, the pictures showing her and Rupert at this event in previous years. At the thought of running into her parents.

I spend the day running errands and working on the garden, even though Rupert said it was fine as it is. I haven’t given up all hope of the pool just yet, and I could maybe even see about getting rid of the old shed at the bottom of the garden, and putting in a new one as a pool house for changing in, if I could get it for a good price. I let my mind wander as I burn the piles of dead wood, bushes and leaves that I have cleared and plant a rose bush in memory of Lola. The grass seeds have taken, and the lawn is looking more lush than scraggly in places at long last, and I prune and weed, all the while trying not to think about tonight’s event. Rupert isn’t best pleased when he arrives home to find me sipping brandy, watching the bonfire as the flames leap high into the sky.