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a school trip together to Switzerland and, well, one thing led to another, I suppose.’

‘Oh my God – that’s terrible. Poor you. I don’t know what I’d do if Luke did something like that. I think I’d chop off his balls.’

I laugh uneasily. Did I hear correctly? Did she call her husband Luke? It must be a coincidence.

From the front of the house, we hear a muffled thud of the door slamming.

‘That’ll be him now,’ says Georgia. ‘Speak of the devil.’

I stand up, my heart hammering. ‘Well, I probably . . .’ I begin nervously. But the words die on my lips as a tall, handsome man breezes out through the French doors.

‘Hey,’ he says, then breaks off, standing stock-still in the doorway. The flabbergasted look in his beautiful green eyes mirrors the shock and panic that I’m feeling. It can’t be . . .

But it is.

Nineteen

I’m staring at him, unable to move or speak, opening and closing my mouth as if all the oxygen’s been sucked out of the atmosphere.

Fortunately, at that moment, the baby spits out her dummy and starts crying, and Georgia doesn’t appear to notice anything because she’s busy trying to pacify her.

‘Luke, this is Cat, Dylan’s mum,’ she says, glancing up at her husband with an amused smile. ‘There’s no need to look so surprised. I told you Harry was having a friend round.’ She lifts the baby out of the rocker, sucks on the dummy and then pops it back in the baby’s mouth. ‘I apologise for my husband, Cat. He doesn’t have any manners sometimes.’

He recovers before I do. ‘Nice to meet you, Cat,’ he says, holding out his hand and smiling blandly.

I stand up and take it automatically, ‘Nice to meet you too,’ I mutter, trying to censor an image of that hand on my naked thigh and simultaneously trying to avoid his eyes, which seem to be burning into me.

‘Well, how was work?’ Georgia asks him, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air.

And he’s chatting smoothly about patients, fillings and root canals, but I can’t really hear what he’s saying. There’s a drumming in my ears and I feel dizzy and nauseous, as if I’m about to pass out.

‘Are you okay, Cat?’ Georgia is asking.

‘Um, actually I feel a bit sick,’ I blurt. ‘I couldn’t use your toilet, could I?’

‘Sure. It’s upstairs. Second door on the right. The downstairs is broken, sorry.’

I dive into the house and dash upstairs. It wasn’t a lie. I do feel sick. The man I slept with the other night is downstairs. I should have realised he was married. But to Georgia? I could never have guessed that.

I lock the toilet door, remove the child’s seat and stand over the toilet bowl heaving. But nothing comes out, just phlegm. I wipe my lips. Then I pull the chain, close the lid and sit down, thinking hard.

Of course, I feel terrible about Georgia and incredibly embarrassed, but if I can get over the initial shock and humiliation and look at this in the cold light of logic, then this is actually a piece of luck. I now know who Luke is. There’s no hiding for him any more. I can make him explain why he lied to the police and I can force him to provide me with an alibi. I stand up and wash my hands, splashing cold water on my face and staring at my reflection, trying to work out how to get him on his own so that I can confront him and get him to tell the truth.

As it turns out, I don’t need a plan because, as I leave the bathroom, he’s barrelling towards me across the landing. His face is like thunder. The polite veneer completely gone. He looks furious and quite frightening.

‘What are you doing here?’ he hisses savagely, grabbing my arm, digging his fingers into soft flesh.

‘I didn’t know Georgia was your wife, I swear,’ I whisper, trying to extricate my arm.

He loosens his grip a little and looks at me as if he’s trying to decide whether to believe me or not.

‘I had no idea,’ I say. I’m not sure why I’m being so defensive. It’s me who should be angry. Not him. And I am angry, I realise. Furiously angry. How dare he blame this on me?

‘Anyway, why did you lie to the police?’ I blurt.

He glances over his shoulder. Georgia has moved inside. I can hear the baby grizzling downstairs and Georgia talking to her in a sing-song voice. Luke looks panicked. ‘We can’t talk about that now,’ he says. ‘Meet me tomorrow.’

‘All right. Where? When?’

‘At my surgery. I work at Cotswold Dentists on Blackjack Street. Come at lunchtime, twelve o’clock, and I’ll be there. In the meantime, don’t you fucking dare say anything to Georgia.’

‘I won’t, I—’ I start. But he’s not listening. He opens the door to his bedroom and slams the door firmly behind him before I have to time to finish my thought.

‘You poor thing,’ says Georgia, as I walk unsteadily down the stairs. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘No, I’ll be all right,’ I murmur weakly. ‘But I think I need to get home.’

‘What, really?’ She looks dismayed. ‘But you only just got here. Do you want Dylan to stay? Luke could drop him off at his dad’s later.’

‘No thank you. That’s really kind, but he doesn’t like staying places without me or Theo,’ I lie. ‘Another time, okay?’

I can’t wait to get out of there. The thought of making polite conversation with Georgia and pretending every­thing’s okay, with Luke just upstairs, makes me feel nauseous. To my relief, Dylan doesn’t make a fuss when I tell him we’re leaving, and Luke stays upstairs in his room.

‘I’ll call you,’ Georgia says, as I bundle Dylan into the car. ‘Hope you feel better soon.’

Twenty

‘That was quick,’ says Theo when he opens the door to his flat. He ruffles Dylan’s hair and gives me a questioning smile.

I don’t smile back. ‘Yeah, we

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