It was almost nine in the evening and dark by the time he got to the Lake District and the house. He parked down the road a little way, in an entrance to a field where his car wouldn’t be seen, then walked, glad to see that the lights were on, the cars were in the drive and Mel was home.

He tried the door, but it was locked. He knocked, his heart pounding in his chest, no idea how his arrival was going to be received.

She stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, and stared at him, her mouth hanging open, before throwing her glass of wine into his face. He didn’t flinch, but instead moulded his expression into a mask of regret and apology, letting the wine drip from his chin, stifling his instinct to wipe it off, smothering the curses that ran up his throat, threatening to burst from his mouth. He had to take care. Baby steps, he told himself. Little baby steps until I’ve got this done.

‘I’m so sorry, Mel. We need to talk.’ He put his hands together as if in prayer. ‘Please let me explain. Then you’ll know I’ve got your best interests at heart. Please?’

Her eyes were wild, fury twisting her mouth from side to side. ‘Damn right you need to explain!’ she yelled. He kept his distance, letting the anger work through her system.

‘Will you let me in, Mel. Please?’ He kept his voice soft. ‘Let’s talk this through, then you’ll understand.’

She stood on the doorstep, her breath puffing out of her mouth, making white clouds in the icy air as her hand reached for the door handle as if to slam it shut. She frowned at him for a long moment. He could almost see her thinking. Then she went back inside, throwing a look over her shoulder. ‘You better come in.’

The tension tightened in his shoulders. That was the first obstacle dealt with. Now he had to focus on the next. Be nice, he told himself. Persuasive.

He followed her to the lounge, where she stood in front of the fire, glaring at him.

‘So, go on then, tell me why you’re here.’ She looked him up and down as if he was the most repulsive thing she’d ever seen and he reminded himself that it didn’t matter.

Grovel, he told himself, his fists clenching with the desire to smack that derisive expression off her face

‘Look, Mel. I’m pretty shaken up myself.’ He put a hand to his forehead. ‘Let’s be civil about this.’

‘Civil?’ She spat the word at him, fury reddening her cheeks. ‘You are going to pay for this. You and your shitty kids. You think you can do something like this to someone? Do you?’ She shook her head, advancing towards him, her empty wine glass stabbing at his face. ‘I told you what would happen if you tried to leave me, didn’t I? I’ll have those kids off you in the blink of an eye.’ She nodded. ‘And then they’ll know what proper discipline is.’ A sneer twisted her face. ‘The police think you’ve been abusing them. Oh yes, and the teacher at school rang in to say she thought you were hitting them and I showed the police these bruises on my wrists.’ She laughed then. ‘So who’s going to believe you, eh?’

Luke staggered backwards, shaken to the core by her words, and knew then what he had to do, what he had to say. He’d hoped with all his heart that it wouldn’t come to this, but her words had narrowed it down to one option and one option only.

‘No, no, you’ve got it wrong. I’m not leaving you. There was an emergency. Let me explain.’ He grabbed her glass, keen to neutralise the only lethal weapon he had spotted in the room. ‘I’ll fill this up, shall I? I could do with a drink, my nerves are shattered after what’s happened.’

His heart was hammering so fast he thought it was going to burst out of his chest. Will she go for it? Will she? He held his breath, watching her, getting ready to take evasive action if needed. The tic jumped by his eyebrow as he waited for his wife to strike. Her mouth screwed into a scowl, bringing back memories of all those times she’d hit and scratched and thumped and thrown things at him. All the words of derision, the constant chipping away at his self-esteem. The fear they’d all felt in her presence.

That’s when any doubts evaporated.

Later, he watched her, lying there in the bathwater, looking so peaceful, and he wished with all his heart that things had been different. But he’d tried, hadn’t he? He’d tried until he himself was on the point of suicide. His children deserved to be free of her. As did his family. Imagine if she’d got custody of his kids. Imagine what torture that would have been for all of them.

Bubbles of air floated to the surface.

Then they stopped.