Once, I would have phoned his practice to confirm my suspicions, desperately cobbling together an excuse for calling when I didn’t need to, but I no longer care enough. Today, I park by the back door and take my crew bag inside, thinking about the three days off that lie ahead, imagining tidying the house and going for a run, or catching up with one or two friends before next week’s flight schedule starts. Maybe I’ll take Niamh shopping and get her a new pair of those awful velour leggings she lives in. Maybe Andrew will dump his lover. Actually see me properly again. See Niamh. See anyone but that fucking bitch he’s sleeping with. But even if he did, I’m not sure I’d want him. Swallowing hard, I blink away the hot tears filling my eyes, hating how the thought of him makes me feel.

In the kitchen, my heart skips a beat as I see the light flashing on the house phone. I leave it until I’ve showered and changed, until I’ve made myself a cup of coffee. Putting it off until I can’t any longer. When I play the message, there are no distinguishable words, just a faint crackle before the caller hangs up. After it plays through, I delete it, then retrieve the caller’s number, my blood suddenly like ice in my veins. I write it down with shaking hands, knowing it’s her, even though there’s no need for her to call here. But then, I know it’s one of Andrew’s games – telling her to call him here, in our home. It’s a way for him to twist the knife, undermine me. It’s what always happens when he starts seeing someone new. It’s just a question of when.

There is no escape from my husband’s betrayal. Even in my home I’m surrounded by the ghosts of his lovers, their silent messages of possession. Most women would have left. And I would, if it was possible. But I can’t. Not yet. So the only way through is to play the part of loving wife, hide the truth from Niamh, and let Andrew do what he wants to do, knowing the day will come – one way or another – when it ends for good.

I pick up my mug and sip my coffee, finding it cold, bitter. My hands still trembling, I hurl it at the wall.

*

The latest message on the house phone has unsettled me. With an hour or so before Niamh’s bus gets back, I pull on running clothes and shoes, needing to shift my sense of unease before seeing my daughter.