‘I got in the van – thought I’d come home early as it was your birthday, get spruced up for our fish and chip night, make the effort.’ He touched his plaster-dotted T-shirt. ‘I put the key in the ignition and there was this’ – he tapped his index finger on his temple – ‘there was this little nagging doubt, this tiny voice I couldn’t ignore. I drove along the main road and I was saying to myself, “You’re such an idiot, Mario – why are you going to the Glade? Why are you listening to what some kid on reception has said? She’s obviously made a mistake. I mean, why would Bess be at that fancy hotel when she’s supposed to be out with her mum and dad? It’s nuts!” I laughed at how nuts it was, and I vowed never to tell you that I’d listened to that little voice. I felt ashamed, and yet listen to it I did.’

His tears gathered and trickled down his face and she matched him tear for tear, the acidity of her fear breaking down all hope, all joy and optimism.

His voice now came as a husky croak. ‘It’s only fifteen minutes from the site. I pulled into the car park and your car . . . your car was the only thing I could see. It was like one of those fancy gold-covered Lamborghinis you see cruising the streets – the ones that make every other car disappear. There it was: your car that I service, clean, top up with washer fluid and oil. The car I put in extra shifts to help buy. It was right there, and I knew that Julie’s girl wasn’t lying. She was telling the truth. You, my wife, were in that hotel and you were up in a room with someone who wasn’t me.’

Bess pictured her husband in the car park while she was sat in that horrible room with Andrew. She felt disgusting. Her breathing came in short, shallow bursts and she felt sick and broken.