Mrs Simmonds continued, ‘… we would be willing, in this case, to allow store credit.’ She pointed towards the cabinet. ‘Since you’ve professed an interest in the jewellery, it seems a sensible and convenient option.’

Jo wanted to kick herself for being so stupid. Even if she did have a friend, she wouldn’t be buying her ridiculously expensive jewellery in this poxy little pretentious boutique. She felt anger flare and fought to keep it under control. ‘No, that doesn’t suit. I’d like a refund, please.’

‘I understand. Unfortunately, as both I and my assistant have explained, that isn’t possible.’ She plucked a fold of the material. ‘Dorothea tells me the dress looked good on you, that it was a partner who expressed dislike. Since women tend to dress to impress other women rather than men; I’d suggest you hang on to it.’

Three hundred and seventy-five pounds. For a dress Jo now hated. There was nothing to do except retreat and lick her wounds. ‘Good idea.’

With an expression that could only be called smug, Mrs Simmonds wrapped the dress in the tissue paper and slid it into the bag. ‘Excellent decision.’ She handed the bag across. ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you again when you’re shopping for your friend.’

Jo left with the bag swinging from her hand and a weight of despair in her chest. She tried to sell it on eBay. When that failed, when she didn’t get one damn offer, and despite her protestations of never again, she did what she had to do. Shutting her eyes to the depravity of it, to the nauseating, vomit-inducing horror as men pawed and pushed into her body with their stinking appendages.

Never again. And this time she meant it.

It was then, when she was at her lowest, that Jo discovered Allison had married.

26

Allison didn’t sleep. She didn’t even shut her eyes because she knew Peter’s face would be there smiling at her with the promise of all the years he’d assumed would be ahead of them. Mostly, she lay staring at the ceiling with tired, gritty eyes.

It was quiet. The old house with its own language of creaks and rattles had settled down for the night. Usually, if she was awake, she’d listen to the rhythmic sound of Peter’s breathing, taking comfort from his nearness. The faint growl drifting from the spare bedroom didn’t have quite the same effect. Allison was sorry her friend had stayed. This was the first day without Peter, the beginning of the next part of her life.

She’d have liked to have wandered around the house. Her house. It would take time to adapt to that way of thinking.