I try to calm myself down. I’m being paranoid. They can’t be from him, surely. It’s as ridiculous as me thinking it was him standing outside my window. The simpler the explanation, the more likely it is to be true, and Paddy would’ve had to travel across town, on a day when he’s supposed to be at work, during a time when he knew I wouldn’t be in the house. It’s much more likely it was kids. Just kids, messing about.

Yet still I can taste fear in my mouth as I tear them into little pieces and put them in the bin. I ignore it. I won’t let it get to me. It’s nothing, nothing to worry about, a stupid prank. I must stop being paranoid.

I go upstairs and step out of my boots. I take off the make-up I’d put on earlier, then the clothes. It’s hard to imagine that just a few hours ago I was putting all this stuff on; it’s as if a film’s playing backwards, a life spooling in reverse. By the end it’s a different me standing here, in front of the mirror. Julia. Not better, not worse. Just different.

I put my jeans on, a shirt, then go back downstairs. My phone rings. It sounds alien, too loud. I’m annoyed; I’d wanted more time with my own thoughts before the real world crashed back in, but when I pick it up I see it’s Anna and am pleased. She’s someone I can talk to, someone I can be honest with.

‘How did it go? Did you find anything?’

‘He knows nothing. I’m certain of it.’

She hesitates, then says, ‘I’m sorry.’

Her voice is soft. She knows how much I need answers.

‘It’s okay.’

‘I really thought—’ she begins, but I’m gripped with an urge to tell the truth and she’s the one person who might understand.

‘We had sex.’

‘What?’

I say it again. I consider telling her I thought it might help, but I don’t. It’s not true, no matter how much I might want to believe it. We had sex because I wanted to.

‘Are you all right?’

I wonder if I’m supposed to feel bad. I don’t.

‘Yes. Fine. I enjoyed it.’

‘Is this because of Kate?’

Is it? I don’t know. Did I want to have sex with Lukas so that I could walk in her shoes?

Either way, I understand her better now.

‘Maybe.’

‘Will you see him again?’

Her question shocks me. I search for a hint of condemnation in it, but there’s none. I know she understands.

‘No. No, I won’t. In any case, he leaves tonight.’

‘You’re all right about that?’

‘I don’t have any choice,’ I say. ‘But yes, yes I am.’

I’m trying to sound light, unconcerned. I’m not sure she believes me. ‘If you’re sure,’ she says, and then I change the subject. We talk some more, about her, and her boyfriend, Ryan, and how well it’s going. She says I ought to come and visit her again, when I get the chance, and tells me that she’ll be over with work in the next few weeks but hasn’t been given the dates yet. ‘We could catch up then,’ she says. ‘Go for dinner, maybe. Have a bit of fun.’

Fun. I wonder what kind of fun she means. I remember she’s younger than me, but not by that much.

‘That’d be great,’ I say. I know I must sound distracted. I’m still thinking of Lukas, imagining meeting him again, wondering what it might be like to be able to introduce him to my friends one day, wondering if the reason I never will is what makes the thought so appealing.

I remind myself that this is my real life. Anna is my real friend. Not Lukas. ‘I’d like that a lot,’ I say.

Connor gets in. I make him a sandwich and tell him to make sure he remembers to put his PE kit in the laundry, then a while later I hear Hugh’s key in the lock. He comes into the kitchen as I’m cooking dinner. I kiss him, as usual, and watch as he gets a drink, then takes off his tie and hangs his jacket carefully over the back of the chair. The guilt I feel is predictable, but surprisingly short-lived. What I did this afternoon has nothing to do with the love I feel for my husband. Lukas in one box, Hugh in another.

‘How was your day?’ I say.

He doesn’t answer, which I know means not good. He asks how my session of therapy went.

‘Okay.’ I’m aware I sound unconvincing. ‘Good, I think.’

He comes over, puts a hand on my arm. ‘Don’t give up on it. It takes time. I know you’re doing the right thing.’

I smile, then go back to the dinner. Hugh says he’s going up to his office, and I’m glad, but as he turns to leave I can’t bear it any more. He’s not himself. His voice is flat, he’s moving as if the air is thick. Something is wrong.

‘Darling?’

He turns round.

‘What is it?’

‘Bad day,’ he says. ‘That’s all.’

I put down the knife I’d been using to chop vegetables. ‘Want to talk about it?’

He shakes his head. The disappointment slices into me and I realize how much I want to feel connected with my husband. Right now, after what happened this afternoon – after what I did – I need him to confide in me. His reticence feels like a rejection.

‘Hugh?’

‘It’s nothing,’ he says. ‘Honestly. We’ll talk later.’

We eat our dinner, the three of us, then sit at the table in the kitchen. Connor is opposite me, his computer open in front of him, a notepad and a stack of biology textbooks next to it. He’s studying the valves of the heart, his father’s subject, and leans into the screen, clicking his trackpad regularly. He has a look of intense concentration. Hugh sits next to him with a paper, making notes of his own, occasionally glancing at Connor’s work, making a comment when he’s asked a question. He seems back to normal now; whatever was bothering him earlier is forgotten, or pushed below the surface. It was probably nothing. Just my imagination.

My phone buzzes as another message arrives.

– I wish I’d bought you flowers this afternoon. You deserve a little romance.

I put my phone back, face down. I look up at my family. They haven’t noticed, and couldn’t possibly see what it says, yet still I feel guilty. I shouldn’t be doing this, not here, not now.

But I’m not doing anything. Not really. It buzzes again.

– You’re amazing. In a weird way it feels like I’ve known you for ages.

This time I have to reply.

– Really? You think so?

– Yes.

His reply is instant. I picture him, at his keyboard, waiting for my next response.

– You’re not so bad yourself.

I press send, then type another message.

– And you did buy me champagne.

– Which you didn’t drink.

– But you bought it for me. That’s the main thing.

– It’s the least you deserve.

Hugh coughs and I look up. He’s looking at me, at the phone in my hand. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Oh, yes.’ I’m trying to keep my voice steady. ‘It’s just Anna. She’s thinking of coming over.’

‘To stay here?’ says Connor, looking up expectantly. I wonder if he’s thinking about Kate, about what he might find out about his mother from her oldest friend.

‘No. No, I don’t think so. She’s coming for work. I imagine they’d put her up in a hotel.’

He says nothing. It crosses my mind that it might do him good, to get to know Anna a little better. I tell myself I’ll make sure they meet, when she comes.

I look back at my phone. Another message.

– What are you up to?

The question is undeniably sexual. Yet when he’s asked me that before, back when we were first chatting, the same words had been entirely innocent.

Or maybe I’d just chosen not to see them for what they were.

Hugh stands up. ‘I’ll make a coffee,’ he says. ‘Julia?’

I tell him I don’t want one. He goes over to the machine and switches it on before filling its tank from the tap behind me. I hold my phone closer to my chest. Just slightly.

‘How is she?’

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I think.’

‘I hadn’t realized you were still in touch.’

I’m surprised. He must know we’ve been talking. It crosses my mind that he suspects, somehow, that I’m lying.

‘Oh, yes.’