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I couldn’t go back to work after what I’d seen. Emma with Mike. The misery on her face as she’d got into her car, as if she couldn’t bear to be parted from him. Or maybe she was thinking ahead, with dread, to coming home and telling me the news. I could hear it, imagine it all. She’d tried to make it work with me. She’d wanted it to. For the sake of the kids, she didn’t want to break up with me. But she couldn’t stop thinking about him. She loved him. Our marriage was over.

I let myself back into the house and almost keeled over in the hallway – found myself bent over, hands on my knees, gulping down lungfuls of air. Could I smell it in the air? The stink of adultery, of animal sex? Had they tried to resist but been unable to keep their hands off each other? Had she screwed him in our bed, or on the sofa where we watched TV together? Had he bent her over the kitchen counter where I cooked our family meals? My entire body palpitated; my vision went black. I was going to vomit, going to faint.

It was only the sensation of something wet on the back of my hand that stirred me, brought me out of the state I was in. Lola, licking me. Trying to comfort me.

‘Good girl,’ I said in a ravaged voice, crouching to pet her and rub her ears. She licked at my face and I realised there were tears on my cheeks. There was part of me that wanted to phone Emma and tell her what I’d seen. To demand the truth, a confession or, better yet, a convincing denial, though I didn’t know if I’d believe her. Despite being almost completely crazed, I retained enough self-knowledge and sense to know I was not going to be receptive to anything she had to say in that moment.

So I didn’t call her or text her. Instead, for the next couple of hours, I staggered around the house, not knowing what to do with myself. Trying to make myself a coffee, then finding that so long had passed since the kettle had boiled that I had to start again. Halfway through my final failed attempt to fix myself a hot drink I found myself moving around the house, looking for evidence of sex. Crumpled bedsheets. Tissues in the bin. Alien hairs on the pillow. I even opened her underwear drawer to see if the sexy lingerie I’d bought her several Valentines ago – which I hadn’t seen her wear since – was lying on top of her more utilitarian knickers and bras, showing signs of having just been worn.

I was still sitting on our bed when I heard the front door open, then footsteps coming up the stairs.

It was Dylan.

‘Why are you home?’ he asked.

I couldn’t think of an explanation. ‘I wasn’t feeling well.’

‘Please don’t give it to me, Dad.’ He went into his room, and soon I heard him chatting to one of his mates through his Xbox headset.

What would happen if Emma and I split up? She’d want to keep the kids and they’d no doubt want to stay with her. I’d end up living in the cold, empty flat above the shop, surviving on microwave meals and being rejected on Tinder or whatever middle-aged people used. I had been out of the game so long that I had no clue how I would survive being single.

I went back downstairs, to make another attempt at brewing coffee, but as I reached the hallway the front door opened and Rose came in.

I said hi, and she blinked up at me like she was shocked to see me.

‘I wasn’t feeling well,’ I said, repeating the lie I’d told Dylan, although it was hardly an untruth now. I didn’t feel at all well.

‘Right,’ she said.

She seemed to be in an even bigger daze than me, blinking at me but giving the impression she wasn’t really seeing me.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Huh? Oh. Yeah. I’m tired, that’s all, after that train journey.’ Oh yes. I had forgotten Fiona had taken Rose out to visit the countryside. ‘I’m going to go for a lie-down.’

She ran up the stairs like she couldn’t wait to get away from me, leaving me standing by the front door, having forgotten what I’d come down for. My head was a mess and I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to talk to someone. And who was the only person who knew about Emma’s relationship with Mike?

Fiona.

‘I’m popping out for ten minutes,’ I called to the kids, unsure if they had heard, but going out our front door and taking the few steps to Fiona’s anyway.

She answered straight away. She looked a little dishevelled, not her usual groomed, calm self. God, was there something in the air today?

‘Ethan?’

‘Can I come in? I need to talk ...’ I trailed off.

She hesitated, studying my face, no doubt seeing the pain etched there, then said, ‘Okay.’

She led me into the kitchen, just as she had the last time I’d visited. The blinds were open, giving a view of the garden and the fields beyond. I could hear birds singing, music thumping from someone’s back garden, the noise of children playing. It all felt unreal. Normal life carrying on while my world had tipped off its axis.

Fiona stood by the counter. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked. Was I imagining it or did she seem nervous? I’m sure at one point her eyes flicked towards the block of kitchen knives, as if she thought I was going to grab one and hurt myself. Or stab someone else. Did I look suicidal, or murderous? It wouldn’t have surprised me if I looked completely mad. She was certainly eyeing me as if I was about to say something monumental.

‘It’s Emma,’ I said. ‘I think ... I think she’s seeing Mike again.’

She exhaled. ‘Oh, thank God.’

‘Yes, I . . . What?’

‘Sorry. I thought you were going to say something had happened to Rose or Dylan. But that’s ...’ She groped for the word, gave up. ‘What makes you think that?’

I told her about seeing them outside this afternoon. The embrace. The expression on Emma’s face afterwards.

‘Oh God. Poor you. What are you going to do?’

I was speechless. I had wanted her to reassure me, to tell me it was probably completely harmless. Not to say Poor you !

‘Do you think she’s seeing him again?’ I blurted.

‘I don’t know, Ethan. Have you asked her about it?’

‘Not yet. She went back to work. At least, that’s where I assume she went. But I’m scared to ask her because I don’t want her to tell me our marriage is over. That she’s in love with him. I mean, she might be trying to decide what to do, and I don’t want to push her in his direction by acting like a ... like a ...’

‘Bitch?’

‘Yes.’

‘Or a twat?’

‘Either of those. I think maybe I should wait a little while, see if she comes to me.’

‘Hmm. And what will you do if she tells you she’s in love with him and wants to be with him?’

‘Oh God, you put it so bluntly, Fiona.’

She shrugged. ‘I can’t help it. I had a strange day today too.’

‘Really? What, with Rose? Did something happen?’

‘Oh. No.’ I could tell she regretted what she’d said. ‘I ... bumped into an old friend, that’s all. Someone who reminded me of my ex. But let’s not talk about that. I think there’s a strong possibility you got the wrong end of the stick. Maybe this Mike guy contacted Emma, told her he couldn’t stop thinking about her, insisted they meet – and she told him it was over, that she loves you and only you.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Or maybe he came to tell her he’s dying of cancer.’

‘Oh Jesus.’

‘Sorry, didn’t mean to get your hopes up.’

I laughed, then realised she wasn’t joking. ‘I don’t want him to die .’

‘You don’t? Oh. Well, anyway, I think ... you should wait and see. Keep an eye on her. I don’t think you should make a move until you know what’s going on. What do they say? Knowledge is power.’ She looked at me. ‘Oh, Ethan, you look so sad. Come here.’

She held her arms out and I stepped into a hug. She was so warm, her body soft, her hair even softer against my face. She smelled a little sweaty, but not in a bad way. I probably smelled worse, but she wrapped her arms tightly around me and pulled me close.

Still hugging me, she whispered, ‘Does that feel a little better?’

I moved my head back and looked into her eyes, our noses almost touching. I could kiss her, and I was sure, in that moment, that she would kiss me back. She was so pretty, and kind, and it would be revenge – sweet retaliation. And I felt it radiating through me: something dark and mean and lustful, and Fiona parted her lips and her eyelids flickered, waiting, breathing ...

And, from the corner of my eye, I saw a figure.

There was someone watching us through the window.

I jerked away, stepping back, out of Fiona’s reach, and she turned to follow my gaze. Tommy was standing on the other side of the hedge at the bottom of Fiona’s garden. He was too far for me to make out his facial features, but not so far that he wouldn’t have seen us embrace. He shook his head before turning and walking away towards the fields, his German shepherds straining on their leads.

‘It was just a hug,’ I said, as if he could hear. I wanted to run out and tell him. Just a comforting hug because I thought my wife was cheating on me.

But of course I wouldn’t tell him that.

‘I’d better get back,’ I said.

‘Yes. Of course.’

Fiona showed no sign that we had almost just kissed, to the point where I wondered if it had been a fantasy. But then I knew I hadn’t imagined seeing Tommy; Tommy seeing us.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to talk to her, or wait?’

‘I think I’ll wait.’

In fact, I had already decided. The money from Iris, that fat bundle of banknotes, was still in my pocket. I knew what I was going to do with it.