They planned to see a film that evening, have hot dogs for tea at the cinema and then an early night. Gareth would have to leave at five the next morning to get back in time for work. He had an hour to kill before picking her up from college at seven, so he headed to the pub for a swift half. I could get used to this! he thought, smiling, as he walked through the doors of the Fox and Vivian.

‘Finished with the paper, lads?’ he asked the two men sitting at the corner table.

‘Help yourself,’ said one of them, before turning back to his pint and chat.

Gareth looked through the sports pages, disappointed there was no news of Cardiff City’s latest away game. Hardly surprising – he was in England, after all. He looked for the crossword and made a start on it. He’d never done crosswords until Judith had moved in. She was addicted to them, and it hadn’t been long before he too caught the bug.

The two guys next to him were deep in conversation. He tried not to listen in, but couldn’t help being drawn to their accents. One of them sounded a bit like Sol – north-east? – only stronger. And the other – was that Glasgow? No, it was Northern Ireland somewhere. Sounded like Dennis Taylor the snooker guy.

Gareth had been on a roll with the crossword, but was now struggling with one of the clues. Six down, eleven letters, ‘double trouble’ – D, blank, blank, L-I-C blank blank blank U-S. As he pondered the answer, the conversation filtered over from the next table.

‘You watch, fella, come seven fifteen she’ll be walking through that door. Like clockwork,’ the Ulster man was saying. ‘She just can’t stay away.’

‘But night after fuckin’ night, man!’ said the Geordie. ‘It’ll drop off, the way you carry on!’ And they both laughed.

Gareth looked up for a moment, catching the Irishman’s eye and smiling back politely, as if partially in on the joke.

And then it struck him.

The word he was looking for: DUPLICITOUS.

He filled in the blanks, then looked at his watch. He ought to get going, really. He reached for his biker’s jacket and got up. ‘See you, lads,’ he said.

Damian Magill raised his pint glass back at him and carried on talking to his friend.

‘She was a bit of a nutter though, Larn, you have to admit. ’Specially that bit with the fork.’ They’d been to see Betty Blue at the local art-house cinema and were making hot chocolate in the kitchen.

‘She wasn’t a nutter, Gar. Blimey, where’s your sympathy? The woman was in emotional turmoil. You want toast?’

‘Aye, go on then.’ He snuggled up behind her. ‘And we’ll eat it in bed, is it?’

She turned to him and kissed him softly. ‘Thanks for coming, Gar. It’s been nice.’

‘Yeah.’

There was a knock at the front door.

‘I’ll go,’ he said.