Sam stood up slowly as if neither Gerry or Katie had spoken at all, and he was merely on his way to get a cookie from the kitchen or go to the bathroom. He took two steps towards the sofa, stopped in front of Gerry, and with one sudden and violent arc of his arm, punched the mug out of Gerry’s hand with a clenched fist. The speed sent it smashing against the wall below one of June Crosby’s framed watercolours of Wolf Mountain, the dripping coffee on the wall not only echoing Mrs Crosby’s painting technique, but in this case bettering it.

Sam’s arms hung by his side, the restrained power in his body visible in the way a puma ripples before striking its prey. ‘Get the fuck out.’

Gerry opened his mouth to speak, decided to close it again, then stood up in the limited space afforded him by Sam’s looming figure. Ann sprang up at his side, while beside the chair, Katie sat white-faced and disbelieving. The Hunts’ two closest friends left the sitting room, and then the house, in silence and misery. Behind them, two figures remained motionless as though waiting for the curtain to fall from a proscenium arch. Katie stared at Sam’s back until he turned around.

The tiny cut below Sam’s left cheek had started to bleed again, and this time Katie let it. She spoke in a barely audible, breathy voice. ‘Welcome home, sweetheart.’

Her voice had a dark, malicious barb in it that had never once been given life in their entire marriage. Sam turned his gaze to Katie, as though surprised that anything was wrong with savaging their friend, and saw the malice was in her eyes as well as her voice. The sight of that pale, pretty face twisted into something approaching hate, brought Sam Hunt back from wherever he’d been, and both eyes moistened as his shoulders slumped into a dejected hunch.

She looked at him for a long time, wondering who this tall stranger was, standing weeping before her, until a large tear that rolled down Sam’s cheek broke that membrane of distaste she had held up between them, and her own tears flowed for the second time that evening. She covered her face with her hands and Sam walked slowly back to the chair, sat down and put a hand on her head.

Katie gulped on a sob and put her aching head on his thigh. ‘Talk to me, honey. Please. Talk to me.’

Sam put his head back, closed his eyes and concentrated on stopping his tears falling from under the closed lids.

‘What about?’

‘Everything. What’s happening here?’

‘I don’t know.’