As she settled down between the sheets, she thought of tomorrow and what she must tell him. ‘Oh, Tom! I did so want to tell you tonight. But it can wait,’ she muttered resignedly. ‘I don’t suppose one day will make much difference.’

But she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too restless. Her heart too guilty.

When in the early hours Tom came into the room, she was still wide awake, though pretending to be asleep.

Leaning over her, he twice called her name, and each time she lay perfectly still, eyes closed and breathing heavily, as though in a deep slumber. Eventually, he climbed in beside her, rolled over and was soon fast asleep. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.

She slept in fits and starts, dreading the morning and the confrontation that must follow.

Dawn was breaking when she got out of bed to go to the lav. When she came back, he was waiting for her. ‘Let me hold you,’ he said, turning back the sheets and inviting her in.

Reluctantly, she went to him.

‘I want you so much,’ he murmured, taking her into his arms. ‘I wanted you when I came home, but you looked so peaceful, I couldn’t bear to disturb you.’

As they coupled, he feverishly and she afraid to respond, Bridget suffered all manner of emotions; she felt warmed and needed, her guilt compounded, knowing how soon she must destroy his trust in her.

Tom quickly went back to sleep. Raising her eyes to the heavens, Bridget asked for divine help to do what must be done today. But oh, how she wished none of it had happened.

Lying there, afraid and insecure, she thought of Harry. Since that night she had kept her distance from him, scurrying out of his way whenever she saw him approach. He made no attempt to seek her out, and she was glad of that. On the one occasion he unexpectedly met her in the kitchen, both their tongues were tied, and though he gave a nervous smile, neither of them spoke. What was there to say? For different reasons, each had suffered because of that night and, as far as Bridget was concerned, nothing he could say or do would ever rid her of the shame she felt.

Eventually she crept out of bed, quickly washed and dressed, and hurried downstairs. She needed to be on her own for a time, before Tom followed and the truth was out. Everything must be straight in her mind. There must be no going back now.

In the kitchen she made herself a cup of tea, but could eat nothing. She felt nauseous. Mornings were always bad, and today was no exception.

Every little sound made her turn her gaze towards the stairway, expecting to see Tom there, tousle-headed and sleepy. He worked so hard in the week, Sundays were always an excuse to lie in.

Going to the back door, she flung it open. Outside the sun was shining, and in the distance she could hear church bells chiming.