She needed all Wicksy’s calming influence to silence her inner rage at what Francesco had done. It was a long drive home, and she didn’t want to fight in the car.

At first it seemed he didn’t want to, either, but after a while he said through gritted teeth, ‘How could you? How could you do it?’

‘I did it because I had to. Because I wanted to find out if I could.’

‘And now you know. Is anything better?’

‘It might have been if you hadn’t spoiled it. I could just as easily ask, How could you? No, no, don’t answer that. We mustn’t fight about this now. We’ve said it all so often. Let’s just get home.’

Nobody spoke for the rest of the drive, but it didn’t feel like silence because the air was jagged with anger and with all the words being suppressed. By the time they reached their destination she was exhausted.

Home was still the flat she’d lived in before, which had been adapted for her in so many ways that it had made sense for him to move in with her five months earlier. After that one sweet loving there had been no question about their living together. Neither of them could have borne to do anything else.

‘I’ll take Wicksy for his walk,’ she said as she got out of the car.

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No!’ The word came out in a flash, before she could stop it, and she was instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry-it’s just that I need to be alone. I’m all tensed up.’

‘I’ll be waiting at home, then,’ he said in a colourless voice.

She was out for a long time, deliberately delaying her return home because of the fearful voice in her mind that warned her they were approaching a crisis, and the wrong words could destroy them both.

Part of her knew the problem had to be faced, and she wanted to go forward and deal with it. Part of her shrank away, arguing that things could be smoothed over with more time, and perhaps everything would be better in future. He might even be asleep when she returned.