Shaun texts me ten minutes after walking out of the café to say he’ll be at the house at 6.30 so we can tell Maisie together.

It angers me how he arrogantly picks the time and expects me to be free at his convenience. But I force myself to send a simple text back to say it’s fine.

I’m treading on eggshells with him at the moment. He’s displaying personality traits that are the polar opposite to the ones I’ve lived with during our marriage. There is no sign of the dithering and self-doubt that plagued him and irritated me for years. Any such weaknesses seem to have melted away overnight.

Sadly, as I know only too well, those old insecurities have a habit of popping right up again just when you think you’re rid of them for good.

For now, though, Shaun is flying high and seems to be giving himself full credit.

I’m due to pick Maisie up from her dance class at six o’clock, so that will give me time to feed and water her before Shaun arrives for our chat.

I get out of the car and walk around it to the front door, stopping dead as I pass the corner of the house. The small opaque side window, the downstairs loo, is broken. When I inspect it, I see it’s still in one piece but fractured, cracks radiating out from a central puncture. There’s no glass on the floor and no sign of a rock or stone. In fact, it looks just as if someone has punched the glass in temper.

I shiver and rush around the front of the house to open the door. Inside, I peer at the glass from the inside. The middle of the window bows in slightly where contact has been made.

I feel sure the window is too small for anyone to climb through, but still. Tendrils of dread begin to stir in my stomach and I leave the tiny room and close the door behind me.

There’s probably a perfectly simple explanation that evades me at the moment. I make a real effort to push the troubling thoughts away. I can’t go back to that place. I just can’t.

I throw myself into making Maisie’s favourite chocolate spread sandwiches for tea. I’m making an exception tonight and skipping our usual hot meal – I have no appetite and I’m certain food will be the last thing on Maisie’s mind once her dad gets here.

I can’t second-guess how she will react to the news. It makes it more difficult as Shaun and I haven’t actually discussed how we’ll approach it.

I feel fairly confident that, if it’s done in the right way, Maisie is happy and confident enough that she’ll take it all in her stride and cope admirably. That’s been my experience of her attitude to change so far, at any rate.

I take a sharp knife from the block and cut the sandwich into four dainty triangles, the way Maisie likes them.

But I pull the knife away too sharply and it nicks the edge of my left index finger, drawing blood.

I curse and suck the tiny wound while I open the kitchen drawer and pull out a packet of plasters, awkwardly wrapping a small one round my finger.

I place her sandwich on a plate and wrap the whole thing in cling film before putting it in the fridge. I’m so clumsy lately. I broke the wine glass and yesterday I dropped a plate, which bounced painfully off my foot before breaking in two on the kitchen floor.

Distraction, that’s what it is. I shouldn’t be dreading this conversation with Shaun and Maisie; I ought to welcome the chance to get things out in the open so we can start to work towards a new routine for our lives.

I hate all this turmoil and unfamiliar territory; I’m exasperated by the broken window I just discovered. I need more stability and less confusion.

Otherwise, I’ll start to feel weird again.

Maisie bounces out of class, over to the car.

‘We had to do jumping jacks for ages and Miss Diane chose the best three – and I was one of them!’

‘Brilliant! Well done.’ I lean over and kiss her on the forehead. Her shiny dark curls bounce at the side of her beaming face and her cheeks are ruddy and round, bunching up either side of her nose.

The relative peace and calm of the car interior is zinging with energy and I can’t help but smile.

‘What’s for tea?’ Always her first question when she’s told me how the class went.

‘Well, you might be surprised to hear that you’ve got chocolate spread sarnies and a bag of crisps.’

‘Seriously?’ She throws me a sideways glance to check if I’m joking.

‘Seriously,’ I confirm. ‘Relaxed tea tonight because your dad is coming over.’

‘Over from where?’ She takes a sip of water from the cooler flask I have waiting for her after class. She’s thoughtful for a moment before her face lights up. ‘Can we all watch a film together?’

I swallow. ‘I’m not sure there’ll be time for that. I mean, he’ll be home for just a little while before he has to go off to work again.’

Her smile dims. ‘He’s always working. He’s hardly ever home now.’

I start the car, check the mirror and pull out into a gap in the traffic. As we gather speed, I notice Joanne Dent’s Mercedes parked in its usual spot on double yellows outside the dance studio’s door.

I crane my neck to look as we pass and see she isn’t at the wheel.

‘Well, he’ll be home for a while tonight, so that’ll be nice.’

Maisie doesn’t reply, and I’m reminded of how awkward it’s going to be if she doesn’t get an explanation soon about why Shaun is always absent.

Our daughter is a smart cookie. She deserves to know the truth and she’s obviously already noticed things are changing.

I can only fob her off for so long. I should feel relieved, not anxious, that we’re speaking to her tonight.

‘So, who were the other two students Miss Diane picked out?’

Her bouncy energy has dissipated, and from the way she stares straight ahead at the road before answering, I guess she’s less than satisfied with my answers about Shaun’s brief visit tonight.

‘Carly and Piper,’ she says flatly.

My heartbeat races a little at the mention of Piper’s name.

‘That’s nice,’ I remark.

‘Piper wasn’t the best, though,’ Maisie says bluntly. ‘Pia was much better, but Piper always gets picked for stuff because of who her mum is.’

It does surprise me that Joanne obviously expects special treatment for her daughter, just because she owns the premises. She’s quite low-key at work but seems to have a blind spot when it comes to anything to do with Piper.

‘That’s a bit unfair,’ I say gently as I slow the car and join a queue of traffic at the lights. ‘I’m sure Piper is a good dancer and I wouldn’t think Miss Diane would pick her if—’

‘Miss Diane picks her because of who her mum is and also because Piper sulks like anything if she isn’t chosen,’ Maisie complains. ‘She’s already telling people she’s going to get the role of Dorothy in the Christmas show.’

The Wizard of Oz is the annual dance show this year. It’s a big event for the school and, thanks to ongoing sponsorship from Walker, Dent and Scott, is usually quite a glitzy affair with a generous budget.

‘I’m sure the roles will be fairly chosen,’ I say mildly. ‘After all, Piper was Annie last year so it’s only fair for someone else to have a turn in the spotlight.’

‘I bet I end up being a boring Munchkin,’ Maisie says crossly.

This is not the best way for our conversation to go, I reflect as I turn the car into our road. Maisie was bright and in a good mood when I picked her up, and somehow I’ve succeeded in turning that around so she’s now moody and quiet.

She sits up straight and leans forward, straining against her seat belt.

‘Dad’s already here!’ She instantly brightens.

Shaun’s outsized Audi fills the driveway and I feel a snag of irritation that he’s acting as if he still lives here. I always parked on the road in front of the drive, in line with Shaun’s theory that any car thieves in the area would be interested in his car rather than mine. But now, it’s most definitely my spot.

On top of this, a good few days ago I asked him, and then when that didn’t work, I told him, in no uncertain terms, not to use his door key and to text in advance if he was coming to the house instead of just turning up.

As soon as the car stops, Maisie’s door flies open and she jumps out and races up the drive. The front door opens and Shaun holds out his arms for her to run into. I feel relieved she hasn’t noticed the broken window. I don’t want her worrying about it.

I reach into the back seat to retrieve my handbag and also to grab Maisie’s dance bag that she left there in her rushed exit.

I trudge up the drive and Shaun, still locked in Maisie’s embrace, looks over her head. ‘Hi. What’s the long face for?’

‘That conversation we had about your key?’ I say cryptically so Maisie won’t pick up on it. ‘Remember?’

‘You couldn’t let me in because you weren’t here,’ he says simply.

‘You knew where I was, though. You could have waited in the car for a few minutes,’ I say, looking pointedly at the driveway. ‘I’ll have to move into my spot once you’ve gone.’

He kisses Maisie on the top of her head. ‘Oh, we’re in for a fun evening, aren’t we, poppet? Sounds like Mum has got dragon breath again.’

Maisie laughs heartily and takes his hand, and they both disappear into the house, leaving me on the path, loaded down like a donkey.