As he came through the front door, Mark knew there was something wrong. Poppy didn’t come bounding excitedly to him. Instead, thumb in mouth, she sloped dejectedly towards him, glancing warily over her shoulder as she did.

‘What’s up, Poppet?’ Dumping his carrier bag, Mark crouched down to her level.

Poppy scanned his eyes, her own uncertain and… guarded?

‘Poppy?’ Mark eyed her questioningly.

‘Mummy’s angry,’ Poppy whispered, her wide eyes now brimming with tears.

Mark looked to Jade, who had appeared in the kitchen doorway. Evie in her arms, she shrugged helplessly and then looked nervously upwards as something crashed onto the floorboards above them.

‘Stay here, sweetheart,’ Mark said, giving Poppy a reassuring smile. ‘Do as Jade says. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Heading swiftly up, Mark went straight to the main bedroom, not bothering to knock.

‘Mel? What in God’s name are you doing?’ he asked, bewildered, as he saw Mel picking up clothes from the pile strewn on the bed. His clothes. ‘Melissa…’ Anger unfurled inside him as he watched her go through his pockets, tossing aside a pair of trousers and picking up another pair. ‘Would you like to tell me what’s going on here?’ he asked, now trying very hard not to lose it.

Mel didn’t answer him, just kept right on searching. But for what?

‘Melissa! What the hell are you looking for?’

‘I don’t know!’ Mel’s expression as she glared at him was one of sheer contempt. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’ She threw one of his jackets down and picked up another item. Realising it was a shirt and would yield nothing, she dropped that to the growing pile on the floor

Mark felt his jaw tense, felt his life slipping away from him, like sand through a timer. ‘You need to stop this, Mel – now,’ he said, making no attempt to hide his growing fury.

Mel ignored him. ‘What will I find, Mark, hey?’ She walked stiffly over to his dressing table drawers, dragging them out to spew the contents onto the shirts. ‘Condoms?’ she spat. ‘Lube? Tell me’ – she whirled around – ‘what other dirty little secrets am I likely to find?’

What the…? Mark was stunned, in utter disbelief at this new twist in the madness. ‘Mel, stop,’ he said shakily. ‘You need to talk to me.’

‘You do use condoms, I take it?’ Mel spat venomously. She was killing him. She was fucking well crucifying him.

‘Mel! Stop!’ Mark caught hold of her arm, but Mel yanked it away.

‘Or is it more of a turn-on fucking prostitutes naked?’

‘For God’s sake! Where the hell is this coming from? You’re completely insane.’

‘Ha! Oh, yes, of course I am,’ Mel yelled, gesticulating wildly. ‘It’s all in my mind, isn’t it? I’m imagining it all, aren’t I?’

Mark didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His temper was way too close to spilling over.

‘Just like I imagined your sordid little affair with Lisa!’

Mark ran his hand hopelessly through his hair. He had no idea what to do. None.

‘Did I imagine you’ve been overmedicating me? Putting extra drugs in my drinks? Did I imagine that?’

‘What?’ Mark looked sharply back at her. ‘Look, Mel,’ he moved towards her, felt the foundations rock this time, crumbling beneath him. ‘I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but can we please—’

‘Do not try to deny it!’ Mel stepped back. ‘I have evidence!’

‘Evidence of what?’ Mark yelled, torn between guilt and gut-wrenching despair as he watched his wife dementedly dragging clothes from the bed, fumbling around, picking up envelopes, tearing them up.

‘God!’ She stopped, clutching handfuls of her hair. ‘Evidence of your nocturnal activities,’ she seethed, turning towards him. ‘Your therapeutic trips out at night, kerb-crawling.’

Kerb-crawling? Mark felt his stomach turn over. ‘Fuck,’ he uttered, his anger shifting as he realised there was only one place any sort of so-called evidence could have come from. Cummings, the bastard. The photos he’d taken. It had to be. ‘It’s bullshit, Mel,’ he said. ‘Whatever you’ve seen or heard, it’s—’

‘You make me sick.’ Mel looked him over, disgusted. ‘Get out.’

‘Mel, you need to listen,’ Mark tried, taking another step towards her. ‘There is no way—’

‘Get out!’ Mel screamed, reaching for whatever came to hand from the bedside table. The alarm clock. Her aim was good. Mark winced, his hand going to his face as she hit her target. ‘Just take your bloody things and go! Or I swear to God I’ll call the police.’

‘And tell them what, Mel?’ Mark asked calmly. ‘That I assaulted you?’

Mel held his gaze. ‘Yes,’ she said, her expression resolute, her eyes burning with hatred.

‘Right.’ Mark pulled his bloodied fingers away from his cheek. ‘It wouldn’t be true though, Mel, would it?’

His heart free-falling into the vast space between them, Mark shook his head and turned away.

‘I want you out, Mark,’ Mel said coldly behind him.

Clearly, she was prepared to believe a slimy piece of shit like Cummings over him. Had her illness caused this? Caused her to be so suspicious of him, so paranoid, she’d believe such complete crap, even knowing him? Or were they headed this way anyway? Mark had no clue. Maybe he didn’t know her. Maybe he never really had. Either way, he was going nowhere. She really must be insane if she thought he’d leave his kids to this.

‘No way, Mel,’ he said, squaring his shoulders as he walked away. ‘Call who you like. I’m staying.’