Hugh reached over and took hold of her hand. His was clammy and warm. They sat in silence. He released her hand when a parent of one of his students wandered over and said hello, smiling politely as they made small talk. She returned to her table and Hugh asked Helen how the shop was doing. She returned the favour by asking how school was going.

The same conversations every Friday evening; the same answers provided. Nothing new or interesting or exciting. And she wondered why she had been tempted into an affair. Was it the same for him? He was certainly distracted tonight, not his usual self. His eyes were pinched at the edges, little lines that weren’t there before, his hands fidgeting, fussing with the napkin, brushing non-existent crumbs from the tablecloth.

She knew what she was marrying when she had accepted Hugh’s proposal. A quiet life of domesticity, nights in front of the television and buttoned-up pyjamas in bed. At the time, she thought it was what she wanted. To have someone to take care of her for a change. She had never had that before. Growing up, the closest person she had had to a parent was Martha, the housekeeper. So the idea of a man who wanted to take care of her, who offered her stability, security, safety – that idea had been appealing. And not just for her. For Mills too. A stable family life, with siblings and a father figure, routine and structure.

Now that Helen’s life was spiralling again, she should be finding these moments of mundanity nice, but she didn’t. There was a feeling building inside her, like she wanted to fight her way out of the mess she was in, instead of lying down quietly and letting it happen.

Hugh hadn’t asked too many questions about her past before. He didn’t like sordidness, so she hadn’t volunteered anything. He knew the bare minimum about Mills’ dad, but then Helen knew very little herself. He was a man, a bunk-up in a car park, never to be seen again. Mills knew that – Helen had been honest with her at least. She’d told her as a cautionary tale, considering that Helen couldn’t actually remember many details about the night. One day Mills might want to know more, but for now she seemed content with knowing that her mother had made mistakes, but had done her best.

Now the fear was that Hugh – everyone – was about to find out a whole lot more about Helen. That getting pregnant after a tacky one night stand while drunk on tequila was not the worst she had done.

The silence between them was squashing her into her cushioned seat. She sipped at the wine, tried to talk about Lydia again, but Hugh cut her off and changed the subject, letting her know in unspoken terms that Lydia was not Helen’s concern.