‘I have a right to know, Kathryn.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m your husband,’ I said. ‘For Christ’s sake. I’m your husband.’

I did everything I could to be near to her. I liked to walk with her so I could lead her by the arm. If she was going up the shops I would go too, just so I could touch her sleeve, steer her by the shoulder, and then, when we were in the shop, I could place my hand flat against the small of her back as she paid for half a pound of bacon, and everyone would know that she was my wife. That she was my Kathryn.

After I saw the photograph Jack had taken, I thought about her in her black underwear, the little bulge of her stomach shelving suddenly down into the top of her knickers. I thought about the lacy pattern of her bra, the dark shadow of her nipples blooming beneath it.

When I held her in bed before we slept, I worked out the words in my head. I would say, ‘Why don’t you come to bed in your underwear?’ Or, ‘I’d like to see you in your bra and knickers.’ But these were words I’d never used in front of my wife. Bra and knickers. They were women’s words. Like period and pregnancy.

The closest I came was one night after we’d been to the pictures to see The Graduate. Kathryn knew about these things, what films were on and where and what they were about and whether they were any good. I just went along to have a look, and usually enjoyed them, whatever they were.

We were sitting there together in the dark and I could smell the new perfume I’d bought her. It was strong and acidic, and it made my nostrils itch a bit; but the fact that she’d sprayed something I’d bought on her bare neck and her upturned white wrists pleased me.

When Mrs Robinson removed her clothes and shut Benjamin Braddock in the bedroom, Kathryn put her hand on my knee and squeezed. I closed my fingers over hers and she didn’t resist when I moved her hand further up my thigh.

I don’t remember the rest of the film.

Outside the night was clear and cold; a sparkle of frost was just visible on the road. We stood under the lights of the foyer and kissed. I reached my hand up into the heaviness of her hair. She held onto my fingers as we walked to the car, and though her hand was cold I felt I had enough warmth for both of us.

I drove too fast on the way home. Kathryn didn’t say anything; she just sat there smiling in the seat next to me.

‘I enjoyed the film,’ I said, changing into fourth as we hit the Darvington road.

‘I thought so,’ she said, with a look over at me.

‘We should go more often.’

‘Yes, we should.’ She squeezed my knee again.