I nod and take another sip of my wine. ‘So I guess they’ll all be wondering who I am?’ My voice is gentle, unassuming. I’ve rehearsed it well, this particular tone, practised it over and over, making sure I complete the whole look with a furtive glance from under my carefully applied mascara before looking away and smiling wanly. I like this new look I have constructed. I think it suits me.

‘Ah, I’m sure that’s not the case at all. They know it’s time for me to start having fun again, getting out and about and meeting people.’

I wonder if he too has rehearsed his lines carefully in his head, choosing each one with precision. He has as much to lose as I do. He has invested his emotions in me, opened himself up to possible hurt and rejection just six months after the man who killed his wife was sent to prison. I need to tread carefully around him, be both malleable and compliant whilst not losing sight of my dignity. Or my carefully constructed target.

We order and eat, the atmosphere softening and becoming more uncomplicated the more wine we consume. At the back of my mind is the question of what lies in store at the end of the evening. Will we part as friends, or will we take this thing one step further? I decide that I’ll let Peter take the lead. He is the fragile one here. I will follow submissively, be the person he wants me to be. I will be his new partner, his substitute Sophia. Except unlike her, I am not currently sleeping with somebody else’s husband, trampling all over their life and ruining it. Not yet anyway. Give it time. Who knows what the future holds for us? The world is my oyster. I plan to enjoy this little venture, regain some of my self-respect. God knows I deserve it.

By the time we order our dessert, we are on to our third bottle of wine. I can’t decide if we have drunk so much because we are nervous or because we’re relaxed in one another’s company. I like to think it’s the latter but everything has taken on a soft haze and I’m finding it more and more difficult to work out what he is thinking. Truth be told, I’m finding it hard to steer my way through my own muddled thoughts, never mind trying to climb inside Peter’s head. I should drink less, remain sharp, incisive. It’s important I don’t lose focus. However, this man isn’t the only one who’s had a tough time of late. I’ve had more than my fair share of heartache and sorrow. I don’t have anybody at home to help shoulder the burden of my own personal misery. At least Peter has his daughter, Lauren. I have nobody. I am truly alone in this world.

‘Everything okay?’ He is watching me. I go hot and cold at the same time, my blood sizzling then cooling. I stare at him and smile.

‘Everything is fine. Better than fine. It’s perfect.’ I tap at my glass with my nail, my hand dropping into my lap as I let out a low sigh. ‘Thank you for a wonderful night.’

He dabs at his mouth with his serviette and leans back, twisting to catch the eye of a waiter to indicate that we have finished and need to pay the bill.

‘Let me pay my share,’ I say, steel in my voice.

‘Absolutely not. This is my treat. It was me who asked you to come here. This one is on me.’

‘Thank you, Peter. That’s really kind.’ Is my voice gentle enough? Passive enough? Sophia was hardly the embodiment of selflessness and after drinking so much, I’m not entirely sure which way I should go with my character development. I decide to opt for soft and subservient. Soft and subservient seems to work well with him. I see the flames of desire in his eyes whenever I turn on my charms, the innocent glances and gentle sighs that I direct his way. He responds well to them.

He settles the bill and we stand. I am mildly giddy, the floor spongy beneath my feet. I can’t remember the last time I drank so much. Tonight has been a shift from my usual stance of always being on my guard, never letting anybody get close to me. I made that mistake with Tom, somebody I allowed into my life a while back. It didn’t end well. Tomorrow, I will return to that mode but for now, it feels rather pleasant to be carried along in the slipstream of Peter’s happiness. I’m going to enjoy it while I can because it’s not going to last. Not if I get my way.

He places my jacket around my shoulders and accompanies me outside. The air is still warm, summer peeking its head around the corner, nudging spring out of the way. A smattering of people pass by us, their chatter filling the silence of an otherwise deserted street. Peter catches me by surprise as he pulls me close to him and kisses me, his mouth soft and welcoming, a slight hint of garlic on his breath. There is real passion in his kiss. I reciprocate, pressing my body close to his. This man is an open book. He is making it so easy for me. So very, very easy. Does he have any idea what I am thinking? What dark thoughts are racing through my brain?

We part, warmed by the food and wine, warmed by each other. He’s handsome, there’s no denying that. And charming. It makes it all so much easier. I’m not sure I would find this task so appealing if he had a face like a pig and the manners of one too but as it is, he is affable, charismatic and good looking. Not what I expected. Or maybe I did. People like Peter and Sophia live charmed lives, taking everything for granted, never questioning the good things that come their way. Always expecting. Always ready to lap it all up while the likes of me sit by in the shadows, watching. Waiting for my time to step into the sunlight and bask in its warmth. Except of course, Sophia spoiled the good life that they had by deciding to sleep with another man, by cheating on her husband and then dying unexpectedly. Their good thing came to an end, as did mine. At least that’s something we have in common.

But now after a long wait, I’m here, taking part, and I plan on enjoying every minute of it for as long as it lasts. For as long as I decide it will last. I’m the one in control here, the puppet master. Peter and Lauren are marionettes, dancing to my tune.

I take his hand and we stroll along the pavement together, my heart battering in my chest while Peter scans the street for a taxi. When none arrive, he reaches for his phone and makes a call. Within minutes, a sleek, black vehicle pulls up alongside us and we slip inside, our bodies huddled together on the vinyl seat like a pair of lovestruck teenagers.

I tell the taxi driver where to drop me off. By the time we arrive, I have my question ready, my voice honed to perfection.

‘Would you like to come in, you know, for a nightcap?’ It’s almost a purr, my timbre deep and resonant.

There is a delay, a moment of hesitation and then his voice, a trickle of despair as he shakes his head and clasps my hand, stroking it with his thumb and forefinger. ‘I’d love to but I’ve got to get back for Lauren.’

Relief floods through me. ‘I understand.’ I do understand. I’ve waited a long time to get this far. I’m not sure what I would have done if he had taken me up on my offer because this isn’t my house. It’s not even my street.

I slide out of the cab and stand in the darkness, waving until the taxi vanishes into the night, and then make my way home.

14PETER

‘So how did it go last night?’ Lauren watches him closely, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. ‘I mean, I take it by your flushed complexion and smirk that you had a good time, yeah?’

Peter turns on the television and scrolls through the channels looking for inspiration. ‘Okay, smart arse. The flushed complexion is because I’ve just stepped out of the shower and my smirk is because you keep asking me ridiculous questions.’

She laughs. ‘Yeah right. Whatever you say, Dad.’

They sit for a few seconds, the television blaring out a stream of inane sounds until Lauren breaks in, her mood more sombre, the smile fading from her face. ‘Can I ask you something?’

He takes a deep breath and braces himself for whatever it is she is about to say. Sometimes, Lauren likes to throw him a curveball. She catches him unawares, knocking him off balance. He doesn’t like feeling off balance, defenceless. ‘Go ahead. As long you don’t want money, that is.’ He laughs and his stomach clenches as she sits, her face like stone, her eyes downcast.

‘Do you think you and Mum would have stayed together if she’d lived?’

Her question knocks every last bit of air out of his lungs. Somewhere in his chest, a rhythm takes hold, the pulsing of his heart that thrums beneath his sweater like a metronome. He wasn’t prepared for this, expecting instead questions about Alice or Lauren going off to university but definitely not this. It takes him a few seconds to prepare his answer.

‘Well,’ he says quietly, moving closer to her, slowly shifting along until they are almost side by side, ‘I’d like to say I have no idea why you’ve asked such a question but of course, we both know things weren’t easy between us, don’t we?’ Sweat blooms under his armpits, trickles down his back. He would rather not answer this. He would rather be elsewhere right now, afraid that whatever he says will betray his innermost thoughts. Afraid his secrets will come spilling out. He’s been good at staying silent in the past year. Good at keeping everything concealed. The perfect liar.

She sighs and turns away. ‘I don’t want to spoil your good mood. I mean, you obviously had a great time last night and that’s totally brilliant. It really is, and I suppose that’s why I feel it’s like y’know, okay to bring it up because I know you won’t get as upset with me speaking about Mum and everything.’ She stops and he nods, remaining silent while he gathers his thoughts and tries to prepare an answer. ‘Thing is,’ she says, continuing. ‘I found something shortly before she died.’

He nods again, waiting for the next part, still unwilling to speak. Not wanting to hear what’s coming next.

She looks at him, waiting for some sort of recognition at her words. He can’t bring himself to say anything. Even a slight head movement feels laboured and arduous. He thinks he knows what’s coming next, can feel it in the air – the apprehension. The unspoken knowledge she has stored away.

‘You knew, didn’t you? About what was going on with her?’

He can’t seem to breathe properly. The room tilts and blurs, the happiness from last night draining away like water swirling and gurgling down a plughole.

Lauren stands. She’s going to get this thing that she found. He knows it, doesn’t want to see it, whatever it is. He’s seen enough, experienced enough. Time to put this all to bed.

Sophia stares down at him from the wall as Lauren heads upstairs, leaving him on his own with only his thoughts for company. Her stare is accusatory. Lauren is right. He knew about her affair. Of course he bloody well did. He always feared he was punching well above his weight with Sophia and although he didn’t brood over it or think about it every day, the nagging doubt was always there that there was somebody better out there who would snatch her away from him. Somebody wealthier, better looking. Somebody with more to offer than he could ever give her. And that is exactly what happened. Except she died before she made any decision to leave him. His head aches at the thought of it. The thought that he wasn’t enough. Then comes the anger: the all-consuming anger that he has tried to suppress. It burns inside him, white-hot flames of fury that scorch his insides.

He listens as Lauren comes back downstairs, her movements clumsy and awkward, her noisiness dragging him out of his reverie. She’ll be trying work out how to show him this thing that she found, how to produce it with enough sensitivity so he doesn’t become over emotional, break down, cry, do anything that any normal, grieving husband would do. But he won’t do any of those things because he’s become adept at covering up, at masking his true feelings. He’s become a proficient liar.

‘Here.’ She holds it out for him to take. He can see the slight tremble in her fingers, observes how her skin is pale and waxy as she clutches a crumpled piece of paper in front of him.

He opens it, straightening out the creases, staring at the message, at the words no man should ever write to another man’s wife. Words no husband should ever have to read.

My darling Sophia. This cannot be over. I refuse to believe it. I need to see you one last time. Please say you will give me one last chance.

Love Phillip xx

‘Well,’ he murmurs, his heart pounding in his chest. ‘I’m not sure what to say, except why is this written in your handwriting?’

Lauren sighs, stares down at the floor then back up at her father. ‘It was a text on her phone. I found it and copied it down word for word and then deleted it off her phone. I should have shown it to the police, shouldn’t I?’ Lauren looks away, her voice a whisper. ‘But after Mum died, everything went to pot and I forgot all about it.’ She blinks, bats away a rogue eyelash. ‘Actually, that’s not entirely true. I didn’t forget about it at all. How could I forget about something like this? I didn’t want to anybody to see it. I was so fucking embarrassed. I had snooped on her. My mum was clearly having an affair. It’s not exactly family of the year stuff, is it? Still,’ she says softly, ‘I guess it only confirms what we now know, doesn’t it? That he was angry with her and had every reason to kill her. He denied the affair, said he was just a friend, a colleague. But he wasn’t, was he?’

Peter places an arm around her shoulders, doing his utmost to keep his voice steady as he speaks. ‘What I think we should do now is get rid of this piece of trash. Throw it away and never look at it again.’ Peter had no idea that Lauren knew about Sophia’s affair before she died. He presumed she had only become aware of it after her death when the evidence was presented in court. Not that they attended on a regular basis. It was all too distressing, draining and humiliating, having their marital problems played out in front of everybody. Despite the arguments and acrimony between them, he had hoped that prior to her death, they had managed to keep it secret from their daughter – their issues. Sophia’s affair. She knew. All this time, Lauren knew and kept it to herself. Shame burrows under his flesh. His daughter bore the weight of Sophia’s deceit and said nothing.

Lauren nods, a lone tear travelling down her face, gathering in a thin stream on her jawline and dripping onto her beige T-shirt.

‘There’s nothing to be gained from going over old ground, is there? All that will do is make us feel upset and miserable. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a gutful of feeling upset and miserable. I want to be happy for a change. I want us to be happy.’ He sits down, pulling Lauren down with him. ‘What happened is in the past. Your mother and I had our problems but that doesn’t mean we have to go on brooding over it.’

‘I agree,’ she says hastily, crumpling the letter up in her hand.

He takes it from her, the paper sharp and cold against his skin. ‘So, can we get rid of it now please?’

Lauren watches as he throws it in the bin behind them where it lands in a heap.