Dan never bothered me in the spare room when he got in last night. He didn’t even check I was there. It was only Olivia who knocked quietly and then entered. I told her I had a headache and she perched on the end of the bed asking if I wanted painkillers or water. I told her I was okay and then she replied that work had been fine but that she was going to bed early as well. It looked like she’d been crying but there wasn’t much I could say to help. I didn’t trust myself to say much of anything, not when it came to Tyler in any case.

The next morning, I head downstairs to the living room before Dan is up. I check the banking website once more but nothing has changed. When he comes downstairs, Dan is already dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt.

‘No gym today?’ I ask.

He heads to the fridge but grimaces slightly, annoyed at my apparent intrusion. ‘No.’

‘What are you up to?’

It’s innocuous enough but not really the type of thing we go out of our way to ask one another nowadays.

‘Car boot sale,’ he replies. ‘I’m going to look for a few things for the new apartment.’

It sounds suspiciously like nonsense. We went to a few Sunday morning car boot sales when we were younger and not as well off – but that would be more than a decade ago. Dan said his apartment was furnished and, for the few things he might need, why buy second-hand?

As with all the other things, I don’t question him.

He says he’s having breakfast first and I reply that I’m going to pop to Ellie’s for a while. Dan barely acknowledges this and certainly doesn’t ask if I want to go with him.

I check on Olivia, but she’s out of it, head buried under a pillow, her body rising and falling gently as she sleeps. After that, I put on some warmer clothes and a coat and then half-jog along the street until I’m outside Ellie’s. I phone her from outside, rather than knocking on the door, not wanting Jason to answer.

Ellie is in a dressing gown and slippers when she answers the door. She yawns twice and asks what I’m doing up at this time on a Sunday.

‘I need to borrow your car,’ I reply.

‘It was banged up, remember. The insurance company took it.’

‘But you have a rental…?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I borrow that?’

‘Why?’

I want to tell her about the credit card statement and Dan’s obvious made-up story about the car boot sale but don’t have time. I don’t feel like sharing at this time, either.

‘I can’t say,’ I reply. ‘Please trust me.’

Ellie fights back another yawn but then she breaks into a smile. I feel it, too. There’s that hint of the old days, of mischief and mayhem. She nips back into the house for a moment and then returns with a key and fob, before pointing to a maroon Ford on the opposite side of the road.

‘That one,’ she says. ‘Please don’t crash it.’

‘I won’t.’

It takes me a moment or two to figure out where everything is. I bunny-hop away from the kerb but, once I’ve got it, the car turns out to be a smooth drive. I glide along the road, across the junction, and then slot into a spot next to the postbox at the end of our road. I dig into my coat pocket and retrieve the beanie hat, bundling up my hair and pulling the hat down over my ears. I’ve got a view of the entire street and so sit and wait.

Barely two minutes have passed when Dan’s BMW cruises from our driveway. It’s so big considering he’s the only one who uses it. I doubt the back seats have ever had anything on them other than the odd bag or file.

I try to remember what I’ve seen and heard about following someone else in a car. It’s something like keeping two cars in between – except there is no other traffic. All I can do is maintain a distance and hope he doesn’t stare into his rear-view mirror too closely.

One thing that’s certainly true of my husband is that he’s a good driver. He’s predictable, maintaining a steady speed within the limit and signalling his turns early. Even though I don’t know what I’m doing in terms of following him, his competence as a driver makes it easy.

I trail him out of the town, following the main road to the dual carriageway where there is a little more traffic. It’s easier to keep a distance yet still see him, and so I sit in a couple of hundred metres behind and wait for him to make a move.

I’m not quite sure why I’m following him, other than that his car boot story seemed so obviously a lie. I suppose it feels like I’m doing something – and something is better than nothing. This is proactive.

It’s only another ten minutes or so until Dan signals to leave the dual carriageway. I do the same and by the time I’m pulling up to a roundabout he’s already taking a left. The lack of traffic lights makes it easy to maintain a distance without making things too obvious.

I’m feeling like a right smart-arse until I see the sign for the GIANT boot sale. The first sign says two miles, then one, then half. Dan continues on the same route until he slows, indicates and takes the turn into a field.

He was telling the truth.

It’s too late for me to do anything other than continue. A line of cars is following one another into the field, stopping at the gate to pass two quid for parking into the hand of some lad who looks about fourteen. I end up delaying the queue by delving through my bag and purse until I find a fiver. The teenager sighs as only teenagers can, as if me giving him a note has ruined his entire day. He scrabbles around in a money belt and passes me back four fifty pence pieces and five twenties. The stroppy little sod.

I follow the line of traffic as a pair of bored lads in wellies point me towards a second field as if they’re directing a plane in to land. There are three cars between mine and Dan’s and only one way to go. Another pair of lads directs Dan into a parking spot halfway along a long row of cars. I grin to myself as he holds up the line by stopping to reverse in, rather than going head-first like everyone else. It’s such a Dan thing to do. The instructions are simple enough as I copy the other drivers, parking parallel to Dan with the same three cars between us.

People are clambering out of the vehicles but I slide down, staring through the lined-up windows to where Dan remains in the driver’s seat of his car. He’s on his phone, texting or using the internet, seemingly oblivious to everyone around him.

I was so certain he was lying about coming here that it’s hard not to wonder what else I’m wrong about.

The couples and families from the cars between have long since disappeared off to the main part of the boot sale when Dan finally opens his door. I scrunch down in the driver’s seat of Ellie’s rental car, giving myself the merest slit through which to watch him. My husband is grinning to himself about something, phone still in hand as he strides off towards the main gate.

I gently open the door, slithering out like a snake – albeit an older one with a dodgy back. I might have been wrong about Dan coming here – but I’m not ready to let things go quite yet. I crouch on my heels, watching through the windows of strangers’ cars, until I’m sure my husband is far enough ahead that he won’t look back. With that, I lock the car, pull my hat down low, and then set off after him.

If I’d known I was actually coming to a car boot sale, I would have worn better shoes. The ground is soft, though not quite a full-on mud pit. I’m in flats but they’re thin and I’ve only gone a few steps when there’s a squelch and the earth oozes over the top of my feet, into the shoe itself.

As I pass through the main gate, the smell of barbeque drifts across from a burger van where a line has already formed. There’s an enormous bouncy castle in the distance, with an attached inflatable slide. On the other side of the gate is the traditional meat man, bellowing on about how he’s not going to sell a dozen steaks together. Oh, no. This bloke wangs fifteen into a plain white carrier bag and asks for twenty quid with a thump of the gavel. The punters are lapping it up, practically charging the van with their wallets aloft.

Dan has ignored all of that. He’s bounding along the central aisle, not bothering to look at any of the stalls. He’s always walked too fast for me, surging ahead and then turning back with disdain as if I’m the problem for walking too slowly. ‘I’m going as fast as I can,’ I’d say – but he’d never accept that. He was never going too fast; I was always going too slow.

I’m practically at a jog in an attempt to follow as he disappears into the depth of the market. It’s only his bright green jacket that gives me any chance of keeping an eye on him. He disappears around a corner and, by the time I get there, his green coat is storming around another.

The pace at which he’s travelling makes it clear that he knows where he’s going. When I get to the next corner, he’s in the distance, weaving between shoppers and browsers with impressive ease. He’s always been impatient, often walking away from shops or restaurants simply because there’s a queue. He never suffered fools, either.

We’re towards the furthest reaches of the field now, with a hedge at the end of the aisle instead of more stalls. I’m still at a jog when I realise Dan has slowed almost to a stop. The stalls are further apart, with regular people selling from a car, as opposed to professional traders.

I’m still a good distance from him but it’s quickly apparent why Dan is here – and why he’s stopped. One of the final stalls is selling exercise gear. There are yoga balls and mats, small weights, stretch bands, and protein shakers.

I edge forward slowly, closing the gap because Dan is moving even slower. My first thought is that they’ve arranged this but that changes immediately when I see the look on Alice’s face after she spots him. She’s in her tight yoga gear, a bright figure-hugging pink and blue lycra against the gloom of the field. The smile is initially painted on as she tries to attract customers but, as soon as Alice sees Dan, her expression slips. She’s confused and definitely not expecting him. I drift off to a stall selling second-hand clothes, flicking through the items on a rail and using it to shield myself from Dan and Alice.

He steps towards her, arms wide for a hug. She accepts it, but only leaning forward with the top half of her body. I’m too far away to hear what’s being said but her body language gives away that her opening line is something like, ‘What are you doing here?’

Dan is all smiles and charm – but she’s like a wall. He speaks for a few seconds and she replies with one- or two-word answers. I move to a second rack of clothes, still watching, fascinated at seeing someone I thought I knew so well in an alien situation.

And then I get it. Dan’s smitten with her.

For Alice, the cheery pleasantness is part of the job. If her clients book more sessions, she makes more money. That’s how she pays her bills. It’s her job to put on that front. Dan has misread everything. What Alice sees as drumming up repeat business, Dan has misconstrued as flirting.

Oh, God.

I’m cringing as I watch them. It’s like the geeky kid trying to ask out the most popular girl in school. Ellie and I used to gossip and giggle about this type of thing when we were young teenagers. This type of tittle-tattle was our lives before we discovered cigarettes and alcohol.

Alice’s arms are folded across her front and, every time Dan takes a half-step forward, she takes one back. She’s smiling but, even from this distance, I can see that it’s not real. She isn’t enjoying this at all.

Dan is oblivious. He’s leaning forward, doing that thing where he talks with his hands like an excited octopus. They do a strange semicircle around her stall, Dan taking small steps forward as she takes larger steps back. It’s like an elaborate performance dance piece and so terrible to watch.

It takes a good five minutes but Dan eventually seems to take the hint that she’s not interested in whatever he has to say. They do the relieved goodbye wave that people do when they’re grateful an encounter is over, and then Dan turns on his heels. I duck behind the original rail of clothes but he’s not looking anywhere other than the path in front of him. He’s frowning, confused, unsure what’s just happened.

I watch him go, striding at the same pace as before in the direction we came.

It’s perhaps the last thing I expected but there’s a part of me that feels sorry for him. Here we are, half our lives gone, neither of us apparently knowing what’s next. He was convinced he’d caught the eye of a gorgeous young woman. Who wouldn’t be flattered? Perhaps he still thinks that’s the case? It’s not love, perhaps not even lust, but crushes can come from nowhere. Suddenly, a perfectly sane and settled person can be fourteen again, insides churning at the thought of somebody else’s attention.

I watch my husband disappear into the distance, not bothering to try to keep up this time. Then I remember the thousand pounds on our credit card statement – and everything else that’s been going on. It doesn’t feel so innocent any longer.