Clutching the door, she pressed her lips together. There was no point in getting into a row about who was responsible for dinner. ‘Or we could go out?’

He finished the beer and dropped the bottle on the counter. ‘Yes, good idea, let’s go back to O’Dea’s, the food was good last night.’

She shut the freezer, her hand resting on it for a moment before turning with a bright smile. ‘Fine, I’ll change into something more comfortable.’ He’d go as he was; he was as comfortable in his suit as in casual clothes. On the rare time they went out during the week, she preferred to change, to have that distinction between work and her social life. Tonight, it was more of an excuse for a few minutes’ privacy.

She shut the kitchen door quietly after her and forced herself to take the stairs slowly, when what she wanted to do was take the steps two at a time, desperate to see what was written on the sheet of paper. Closing their bedroom door, she pulled it from her bag and took it into the en suite. With the catch on the door, she sat on the toilet seat and unfolded it. It was badly written… childish almost… a spelling error in the six words that were sprawled across the page in a single line, no punctuation, no capitalisation.

we need to meat ring me

And underneath a mobile number.

She crumpled the page in one hand and held the other over her mouth. ‘Oh God,’ she whispered before smoothing out the creases to read again. The six words didn’t appear in any way threatening. But why on earth did he want to meet her?

He had looked so disgusted when she’d tried to kiss him… surely, he wasn’t thinking of blackmail. Apart from humiliating herself, she’d done nothing wrong. But was it a story she’d want told to Jack? Of course, it wasn’t.

She stood and flushed the toilet, in case Jack had come upstairs. But when she opened the door, the room was empty. Reaching for her handbag, she felt inside until her fingers closed over her phone. She took it out and returned to the bathroom.

A minute later, after a few attempts, she had composed a text she was happy with.

I’m sorry I misread the signals. I don’t want to meet you. Please don’t come to my house again. I’ve told my husband how stupid I was. Now I want to forget it happened.

She looked at it for a moment. It would do, wouldn’t it? It said she wasn’t interested in meeting him and hinted that there was no point in trying to blackmail her as her husband already knew. A convenient lie that looked convincing. Holding the page out, she keyed in the phone number and taking a breath, pressed send.

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