There had been an incident the night before. One of the charities that Stephen was on the board of had a cocktail party in the city. Stephen had gone straight to the function after work at the hospital, so Heather had met him there.

On arrival, a man at the door held out a tray of colourful cocktails. Heather had glanced around for Stephen before accepting one, which made her hate herself a little bit. After all, she didn’t need his permission. Drinking a cocktail didn’t mean she had a drinking problem. The only person who had a problem with her drinking was Stephen.

And so, with the cocktail in hand, she made her way across the room. She found Stephen holding court among an eager audience, telling a story about a group of doctors who’d started a flash mob when he was on his way into surgery that morning. Heather caught his eye as she approached and he put his arm out to her.

‘I don’t know if everyone has met Heather, the lady in my life,’ he said proudly.

Heather smiled and waved at the familiar and unfamiliar faces.

Stephen looked happy but his gaze had lingered for a second or two on her glass. For the next two hours, she sipped the same drink, ready to respond to any of his assertions that she was drunk. She hadn’t had anything else to drink. And still the drive home had been tense.

‘I only had one drink, Stephen.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘But you were thinking it. You have your worried face on.’

‘I don’t have my worried face on. I didn’t say anything, Heather. I don’t know why you’re sniping at me like this.’

Sniping? Was she?

When they got home, Stephen went straight to the bathroom for a shower. After a few minutes of stewing on what she’d done, Heather decided to join him. It would be just the thing, she realised, to smooth things over between them. It was steamy in the bathroom, and she couldn’t see very well, but then the shower door opened and Stephen’s arm shot out. Her legs slid out from under her, and she fell, landing hard on the tiles.

‘Are you all right?’ Stephen said, as he picked her up. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’

Heather shook her head, even though her back and legs were throbbing.

‘It’s slippery in here,’ he said, chidingly. ‘That’s why I tried to grab your hand.’

She didn’t even try to argue with his version of events this time. She knew better.

He was right, and she was going mad.

Still.

Heather had been thinking a lot about what Pam said that day at Miles’s party. That Stephen had made her life hell. Just the ramblings of an ill woman, probably. Unless . . . it wasn’t? Heather was almost certain that Stephen was the good guy, the upstanding doctor, the loving husband and father that he seemed. There was only the tiniest doubt in her mind. It was miniscule really. Still, she needed to get to the bottom of it, and fast.