“I know. But she’ll release the videos and the photos. Then I’m screwed.”

“Yeah. I don’t think you should go either. But I had to say it.”

They drank quietly for a while, listening to the pub sounds, the fruit machine and the clinking of glasses and the laughter and the life going on around them. Scott felt disconnected from it all, similar to the way he’d felt after Natalie’s passing, and for long periods before, as though he was inside a bubble.

If he’d learned one thing after Natalie, it was that life went on, always, no matter what. There was only one thing which ended it. Which meant he either had to die or fight, and he wasn’t going to give up.

He tried to convince himself of these words, but then he felt a tremor, like a blow to the chin. Fighting his own wife, the woman he loved, the woman he’d thought he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

This was no longer a marriage. It was war.

He finished the dregs of his pint.

5

CASEY

Casey whistled a tune as she pulled out the drawers and upended their contents. The mess of their life spilled out over the living-room floor: notebooks and knick-knacks and a small teddy bear Scott had won at the arcade during one of their earlier dates. She’d hugged him so tightly, shifting her body against his, and then he’d started to whinge about how special this was, how much it meant to him.

“I know it doesn’t seem very manly, getting all emotional over a teddy.”

Casey had whispered it was okay. He didn’t have to be ashamed. And all the while she was singing within. “This is just the beginning, sweet husband-to-be,” she wanted to tell him. “It’s all downhill from here.”

“It’s so good to feel again,” he’d croaked, smearing his lips across her forehead in what was intended to be a romantic way; at least Casey assumed that’s what he was going for. He failed. “I know it’s silly.”

“No,” she’d lied. “I understand. You’ve been through a lot. I’m just so glad I can be here for you.”

Scott had no right, imposing his mood on her, which he did incessantly. If she ever found an equilibrium – a reprieve from the devil in her thoughts – his whining or loving or self-pitying or wannabe man tone would come leaking in. I thought it’d be nice if we watched a film tonight…

And Casey, acting like a professional, with more commitment than most people could even contemplate. Oh, you pick, Scott. You always pick the best films.

Then his grin, self-satisfied when she reflected his own naïve aspirations back at him. He was always on the edge, Scott, limp. Wet. A soaked sort of man.

She hummed a tune as she tipped over the coffee table. Her back ached as she dragged the armchair onto its side, and then she threw the cushions across the room. She’d already handled the rest of the house. The bedroom was a bomb site. The kitchen was covered in mess, the Aga drenched with curry and pasta and casserole sauces, the glass jars shattered on the floor. The bathroom was streaked in shower gel and shampoo.