‘No, Daddy,’ Mina’s voice is thin and whiny as she raises a finger to point to the small area outside the village pub. I look to where she is pointing, my heart seeming to stop in my chest. Rav’s car is parked in a narrow space outside the pub. I pause, then slowly step towards the pub window, peering in through the glass into the bar. Rav sits there, a pint next to one elbow, as Naomi sits beside him, talking animatedly. It’s such a familiar scene that I can almost hear her voice, the only difference is that I am this side of the window. Shut out. Rav keeps his eyes on her as she talks, and I realize I can’t remember the last time he paid so much attention to me when I am speaking. Naomi moves closer, her knee resting against his as she nudges Rav in the arm, shaking her head with a faint hint of a smile on her face before she raises her hand in a gesture to the barman to bring her another glass of wine.

I watch, my pulse thudding loudly in my ears, unable to tear my gaze away. Mina shifts impatiently beside me, as Rav leans in close to Naomi, his lips grazing her hair as he talks in her ear. Turning her face so that she is gazing into his eyes, Naomi reaches out a hand and twines her fingers with his, before Rav slides off his bar stool completely and stands beside Naomi, wrapping her in his arms. I turn away, bile burning the back of my throat, my eyes hot and sore with unshed tears as I grasp Mina tightly by the hand.

I start to walk briskly, ignoring Mina’s cries, almost running across the pedestrian crossing and narrowly missing a cyclist who raises a middle finger in my direction.

‘I want Daddy,’ Mina cries, her hot face red and sweaty.

‘It’s not Daddy,’ I lie, ‘it’s just the same car as Daddy. He has to work late but he’ll come in and kiss you goodnight, OK?’ The lie tastes bitter on my tongue and I store it away, to think over later when Mina is bathed and in bed, her temperature finally lowered, when the house is quiet, and I can turn it over in my mind.

‘Al? I’m home.’ It’s close to nine o’clock when I hear the front door slam closed, and then Rav walks through the bedroom door.

‘Some meeting,’ I say, not looking up from where I am leaning over the cot. The baby is sleeping but I don’t want to make eye contact, don’t want to watch his face as he lies.

‘God, it really was.’ Rav lowers his voice, stripping off his jacket, throwing his tie on the chair in the corner of the bedroom. ‘Sorry I’m so late. Did you eat?’