‘No, I just mean…’ I was definitely chancing my arm. ‘I don’t know if Ces’s got all that many friends.’

‘And that’s my fault?’ He was almost tearful now, so angry was he.

‘Not your fault at all, Zach. I just want you to be mindful that—’

‘What?’ He practically spat the word out.

‘It’s not as easy for everyone as it is for you. You’ve never had a problem making friends. So, c’mon then’ – I indicated left at the junction – ‘I promised you fish and chips, didn’t I?’

Sideways glance, to check for sarcasm. ‘Can I have a saveloy instead?’

‘Euch!’

‘Please.’ He batted his lashes at me, and I laughed.

‘Only if you watch an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine with me.’

He sighed gustily. ‘OK then.’

Pulling up outside the takeaway, I suppressed my own sigh. Whatever was going on with Cecilia only added to my worries about Melissa, and about what she might have been doing earlier. Which made me remember the comfort of Marcus’s car.

His concern; his gentle hand on my arm.

The fact he seemed so interested in Zach; it warmed my heart.

‘Here’s a tenner,’ I told Zach, abruptly screeching the thoughts to a halt. I was not meant to think of this man in any context, friend or not. ‘Go mad, and just get me some chips please.’

As he got out, I picked up my phone, which for some reason was open on my email inbox. Mindlessly, I scrolled through mainly marketing junk.

It was so hard not to seek out something good, something to look forward to, because otherwise, honestly, everything seemed a little bleak.

And I’d be mad not to let Marcus help Zach, I knew that.

As if the ether fairies heard me, as if she knew I was thinking about her husband, a WhatsApp message pinged up: Nella.

I dropped my phone into my pocket like it had burnt me, though it was just a group chat, rearranging the next party meeting for Monday.

But however much I knew I shouldn’t think about this woman’s husband, it was proving increasingly hard not to.

Melissa

SUNDAY 10 SEPTEMBER

Cecilia eventually remembered to tell me, peeling potatoes the next day for the Sunday roast, that Ruby had turned up on the doorstep the night before, asking if I was in.

‘She wanted to know if you were all right.’ Ceci looked at me under her lashes. ‘She seemed – worried.’

I glanced at Rex, but he was fully engrossed in his Mail on Sunday.

Still, I felt the slow creep of fear across my collarbone as I scraped the peelings up. Of course I’d known I was taking a risk – of course I did – going there to see him last night. It was just that, in the end, my yearning had gotten the better of my common sense.

But then I got distracted.

At least I’d been out when Ruby came though; I wasn’t forced into yet another lie.