At six fifteen, she opened the expensive bottle of wine she’d been saving for a special occasion and carried it and two glasses through to the living room. Leaving the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, she crossed to the window. A solitary pedestrian strolled by, eyes down, lost in thought. One car passed, slowed and squeezed into a parking space a few metres away. Nothing else claimed her attention.

Unable to relax, she checked the slim gold watch that circled her wrist again. Six thirty. Damage limitation. She picked up her phone and pressed to ring. It went directly to voicemail. She waited for the beep, and spoke: ‘Peter, where are you? I’ve the wine opened, waiting for you to join me in an anniversary toast. You’d better get home quickly before I pour a glass and start without you.’

Tossing the phone on the sofa, she sat and switched on the TV to pass the time. A few minutes later, she picked up the wine bottle and half-filled each glass. It looked good; the stage was set to fool all onlookers. Seconds later, she gave in to temptation and picked up one to take a sip. As she watched the news, raising her eyes to hear yet another scandal engulfing the current government, her eyes flicked continuously towards her mobile. It didn’t ring.

When it did, she pounced on it and answered without checking, immediately regretting it when she heard Jo’s voice.

‘Hi, I wasn’t expecting you to answer!’ An irritating laugh tinkled, grating on Allison’s already sensitive nerves. ‘I assumed you’d be out celebrating your anniversary and was going to leave a voicemail to say how much I enjoyed our lunch and to tell you I’d reached home safely.’

Ringing her, not sending a message. Allison had obviously failed to make it clear she preferred the latter. ‘Great. We’ve not left yet. Peter has been delayed. Work. You know how it is with these driven solicitors.’

‘Oh yes, but what a nuisance. I hope he’s home soon.’ A laugh rumbled down the line. ‘Luckily you had lunch otherwise you’d be chewing those beautifully manicured nails.’

‘Oh, here he is now. Thanks for ringing, Jo, I’ll be in touch.’ Allison hung up on the two lies… there was, of course, no sign of Peter, and she doubted she’d be in touch with Jo. Meeting her had been a bad idea. Sometimes, superficial social media relationships were best not being developed further.

She switched off the TV and picked up her wine glass. The wine she’d poured was almost gone when the doorbell pealed almost an hour later. The sound, falling into the silence, startled Allison into crying out; a laugh at her foolishness verged on hysteria. When the doorbell rang again, the sound echoing through the house, she got to her feet.