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Her heart twisted with the dread of it. She wondered if she should take his wine over to him, and decided not to. She didn’t want to witness him abruptly ending the call when he saw her coming.

Finally he came back over to the house. Jenna was still in the kitchen packing lunch boxes with small cartons of pineapple chunks and Kit Kats. There was chicken and mayo for the twins’ sandwiches, ham and pickle for Josh, plus the yogurts she mustn’t forget to put in, making sure they all had their favorite flavors.

“Where’s the dog?” he asked as he closed the door behind him.

“Upstairs with Paige,” she replied. Was he planning another of his nighttime beach strolls? “I poured you some wine,” she said.

He glanced at the glass and nodded. His face was taut, and he wasn’t meeting her eyes. Suddenly she wanted to shout and rage or throw something at him.

Instead she carried on with what she was doing, waiting for him to break the silence.

Without taking a sip of his drink he went to close the kitchen doors. Since they were made of glass they could see through to the sitting room, so they would know if a child was coming. This was what they did if they needed privacy, unless they were in the bedroom.

“We need to talk,” he said. He looked pale, almost haggard, and as if talking was the last thing he wanted to do.

As she watched him, her mind was darkening with the dread of what he was going to say. It would be about the business, she told herself quickly. Something had gone wrong. They’d lost all their money; they might have to move out of this house. If it was that, it might be a relief. Fighting back from bankruptcy and dealing with the loss of a dream were doable. Anything else wasn’t.

“There’s no easy way of saying this,” he began roughly. “I’ve tried to think of one, but…I guess the only way is to come straight out with it.”

She stood motionless, her head down as she waited for the blow.

“I’m leaving,” he said quietly.

She could feel herself starting to sway. She knew she’d heard right, but she was unable to make herself take it in. If she did, her entire world would begin to fall apart.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve…I didn’t want this to happen….”

“You have four children,” she stated, as if he might have forgotten.

He flinched, but managed to keep his voice steady as he said, “I think it’s best for them if I go.”

Had he really just said that? Was he truly telling himself that leaving would be
best
for his children?

“I’d still see them,” he went on. “All the time. I just—I just won’t be living here anymore.”

Her hand went to her head. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t really speaking these words and meaning them. It was all a terrible twist of her frightened mind. “Then exactly where would you be living?” she asked.

He swallowed dryly. “In Swansea. With Martha.”

In spite of suspecting it, the name hit her with a sickening force.

She looked at him, finding herself unable to think of what to say or do. It was as though she’d become separated from her responses, paralyzed by the fear of going forward. She needed to push the words away, to render them meaningless or unspoken, or she might lose her mind. “So when I asked if you were having an affair,” she said, “you lied.”

He only looked at her.

“You’ve lied and you’ve cheated, and you’ve got the nerve to stand there now and tell me you’re leaving.”

He didn’t defend himself.

“How does that work, Jack?” she cried brokenly. “Just tell me how it’s so easy for you to walk out of here.”

“It’s not easy,” he growled. “Christ, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but I can’t go on pretending.”

“
Pretending!
All of this is a pretense for you? Me, our marriage, our children…”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

He took a breath but didn’t answer. She saw tears in his eyes and wanted to hit him.

“What do you mean?”
she raged.

“Please don’t make me say things I’d rather not.” His voice was ragged, shaky.

She felt herself backing away. He didn’t have to say them; she could guess what they were and would almost rather die than hear them. “You’ve lied to us, betrayed us, and now, because
you
can’t pretend, we’ll be left here, trying to pick up the pieces, trying to work out where we went wrong, and all because you’ve got a hard-on for a woman—”

“It’s more than that,” he broke in quietly. “You surely can’t think I’d do this if it wasn’t.”

She could only stare at him as everything inside her began breaking apart. He was serious about the woman; he was
in love
with her.

Panic was starting to take her over. She was shaking, tears were falling onto her cheeks, her breathing was labored. She suddenly realized there was a knife in her hand. She wanted to plunge it into him, to make him bleed and scream the way she was bleeding and screaming inside. “How long has it been going on?” she heard herself ask.

He dragged a hand over his mouth. “What does it matter?”

“
How
long?”

“Virtually since we arrived here.”

More shock tore at her heart. How had it been possible for him to deceive her for an entire year without her suspecting sooner?

Because she’d always trusted him; that was how. She’d truly believed that she and the children meant as much to him as he did to them. She’d never imagined he’d do anything to jeopardize their happiness, to destroy everything they’d built together, and yet for the past year that was exactly what had been happening. How much worse could the betrayal get? “I don’t know you,” she told him, her voice threaded with pain and contempt. “You’re not the man I married. You’re not the father of my children.”

He said nothing, simply stood there, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. Suddenly, without thinking, she picked up her wine and dashed it into his face.

For a long moment he only stared at her, the ruby liquid dripping onto his shirt.

“You’re despicable,” she told him brokenly. “You’ve been lying to me all this time—”

“Of course I lied,” he cut in hoarsely. “I had to, to protect you.”

“No! To protect
you,
and
her.
Tell me, the morning you disappeared on the beach, when you said you’d taken Irene Evans’s dog home, where were you?”

His expression was impenetrable, his tone stiff, as he said, “I think you know the answer.”

“So what happened? She rang when you were out walking with me and you…What did you do? Went running to her, we know that, but then what happened? Where did you go?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I want to know.”

“OK. She picked me up in her car and we went…somewhere quiet.”

She felt suddenly sick, dizzy, unable to stomach any more. The images he was creating of desperate lovemaking in the back of a car while she, sad little dupe that she was, continued to walk on the beach were too hard to bear.

“And the night you said you were at the pub?” she made herself ask.

His gaze remained steady. “I was with Martha.”

Once again the name felt like a slap. “You’d seen her that day, but you couldn’t wait to see her again?”

His failure to answer was answer enough.

“Did you go to see your mother? No, of course you didn’t—more lies so you could spend two whole nights with your whore. Did you ever see anyone from the Arts Council? The email inviting you never found its way to my inbox. Do I even need to ask if it was where you went last Saturday when you decided to disappear?”

“I was with her,” he confirmed.

She looked at the knife she’d dropped on the countertop, and for one insane moment she felt tempted to slash it across her own wrist. Real pain, something deep and physical, surely had to be easier than this.

“Why did she come here to talk me through the website?” she demanded, wondering why she was putting herself through this, yet unable to stop.

“What does it matter?”

“Why did she come?”

He took a breath, and she could see how hard he was finding this, but she couldn’t care less. “I think a part of her wanted to be reminded of how much she likes you,” he said.

“What?”

“She wanted her conscience to take over, to make her realize that she couldn’t take me away, so that she would have to give me up.”

Remembering how the woman had sat in this very kitchen, asking about her family, looking through pictures of the children and noticing that Jack wasn’t in many, sent a bolt of outrage surging through her.

“And tomorrow? What’s that supposed to be about?” she asked furiously.

“It won’t happen now.”

“Because you’ve already told me. Meaning she threatened to do it for you.”

“It had to come out sometime, and dragging it on wasn’t doing anyone any good.”

It was all hurting so much that she hardly knew what to do with herself. She didn’t understand how his mind could be so set on destroying his family. It wasn’t making any sense, it wasn’t who he was, and yet he was standing there telling her that Martha Gwynne meant so much to him that he couldn’t give her up, not even for the sake of his children. “Does her husband know?” she asked.

He nodded and swallowed. “She moved out last week. We’ve rented an apartment in the Maritime Quarter.”

Her eyes widened.
We’ve
rented an apartment. The word was like acid on an open wound. “When do you intend to go?” she said hoarsely.

“I hadn’t—”

Suddenly losing it again, she stormed into the utility room and grabbed his coat. “You can go right now,” she raged, thrusting it at him. “Here you are. Take it and get the hell out of here.”

“Jenna, for heaven’s sake…”

“I said get out!”

“You’ll wake the children.”

“What do you care about them?” she yelled. “You’ve already made the decision to abandon them, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re not in their lives anymore.”

“I’m not abandoning them, and I won’t have you telling them that I am.”

“Then what will you have me telling them? Better still, what will
you
tell them? After all, you’re the one who’s doing this, so you should be the one to explain that you’ve been fucking another woman who you’ve now decided to live with instead of them. Exactly how are you going to put that, Jack? What words have you?”

“You don’t have to be crude.”

“If what you’re doing isn’t crude, then I’m sure I don’t know what is.”

“I thought we could talk to the children together, explain that I won’t be far away, that I’ll still be picking them up from school, coming for tea, putting them to bed…”

“Are you out of your mind?” she cried hysterically. “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself, that you can carry on coming and going from this house as though nothing’s changed? As if not living with their mother, not loving her anymore, counts for nothing?”

He stared at her helplessly.

“Well, is it? Is that what you’ve fooled yourself into believing? You seriously think you can carry on your relationship with them?”

“What do you want me to say?” he demanded.

“I want you to say that this isn’t happening, that I’ll wake up in a minute and find out it’s a nightmare, that you aren’t really standing there telling me that our marriage is over when I…when I…” She couldn’t hold it together now, and as she started to break down he came to her. “No,” she choked, pushing him back. “I don’t want your pity. I just want…I just want you. Oh God, Jack, please don’t do this, I beg you. I can’t bear to lose you. We can work this out. Please say you’ll give her up, that our lives can go on the way they are.”

Pulling her to him, he stroked her hair as he said, “I swear I didn’t set out to make this happen. The last thing in the world I ever wanted was to hurt you.”

“Then don’t do it. Think of everything we’ve meant to each other, of how much it would mean to the children if you were here to see them grow up…”

“But I will see them grow up. Swansea is only a few miles away, and like I said, I’ll come every day.”

“But you’ve got to see how impossible that would be for me. I can’t let you do it, Jack, I just can’t.”

“I know it seems hard at the moment, but once things have calmed down—”

“It’s never going to happen. You have to start believing that. If you leave here, you’re out of our lives. It’ll be over. You’ll never see us again. Any of us.”

The pain in his eyes was etched in his voice as he said, “You can’t cut them off from me, and you know it.”

“Paige would cut herself off.”

“Maybe, if you told her to, but what good would that do her? I’m the only father she’s ever known, nothing’s ever going to change that, and I’ll always be there for her, no matter—”

“No! You’ll be at an apartment in Swansea with Martha Gwynne. That’s not here. No, Jack, you can’t have it all. You have to choose, Martha or us. We’re not going to share you, even if she will.”

Taking a breath, he said, “Now’s not the right time to discuss this. We’re both tired, emotional…”

“There’s never going to be a right time.”

“Maybe not, but I think we’ve said all we can for tonight. I don’t want to hurt you any more; I just want you to know that I’d give anything for this never to have happened, but it has.”

“Because you let it, and now you have to stop it.”

His only answer was to pull her more tightly into his arms, and as he held her she’d never felt so helpless or afraid in her life.

In the end, she said, “Are you leaving tonight?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Had you intended to?”

“Not really.”

“But she’s waiting for you to call?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Glad to think Martha might be worrying, fearing he’d changed his mind, perhaps even imagining him making love to his wife when he should have been leaving, she heard herself say, “Is she good in bed? Is that what it’s really about?”

He didn’t answer; simply closed his eyes and rested his head on hers.

“Is she better than me?” she asked brokenly.