I went back to work the next morning and was grateful for patients to focus on. I wanted the needle to slip back into its regular groove – or vein – so everything else would melt away because I was too busy to think about it.

The packed morning surgery was the usual heady mix of elderly ailments, toddlers with various viral infections and finished up with a teenager’s septic nose stud. By lunchtime, I’d managed to forget I’d had sex with someone who wasn’t my husband – and that my husband had recently fucked his work colleague – for at least two hours.

‘Well, at least everything is out in the open now,’ Rachel said, when I grabbed a quick five seconds to call her back at lunchtime after she’d texted to make sure I was OK.

‘True.’ I sorted through some referral letters with my mobile clamped to my ear. ‘Although two wrongs don’t make a right, obviously, and I shouldn’t have done it at all—’

‘But you did,’ Rachel interrupted. ‘People make mistakes, and you’ve both been brave enough to admit that to each other. The critical thing now is whether you can properly move on from everything that’s happened?’

‘I really hope so. I’m not going to lie, Rach, you know that, before kids, my relationship red line was someone cheating on me, and I hate how differently all the Hannah stuff has made me feel about Rob. Yes, he’s still fundamentally the same person. We’re still looking after the kids, sorting packed lunches, brushing teeth, working, food shopping – but now he does one wrong thing and immediately I’m thinking: That’s it – divorce. So, after what I told him yesterday, is he thinking that too? I don’t know.’ I hesitated and sat back in my chair, closing my eyes for a moment. ‘But then thinking divorce because you’re angry and hurt is one thing – actually doing it… who can even afford to split up these days? Two houses and all of that shit. That’s before you think about what it would do to the girls… You couldn’t find two little children who adore their father more than Tilly and Maisie. And I love him too. The very real thought of him leaving us, meeting someone else, marrying her and having another family, is unbearable.’

Rachel sighed. ‘Life is never straightforward, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t. And I’m really not saying this is an excuse, for him or me, but it is bloody frightening how easy it is to make such a huge mistake that you genuinely regret. Is that worth chucking away ten years over? I think I might feel different if he’d had an actual affair, but it was one night. What I did was one night.’ I shivered uncomfortably, not wanting to think about it in any detail. ‘Obviously there are problems, otherwise neither of us would have done anything in the first place, but we both want to fix them.’

‘Well, I’m really pleased,’ Rachel said sincerely. ‘No one’s saying it’s going to be easy, but surely you both wanting it to work is half the battle?’

---

There was no question we were both making a lot more effort to consider each other. Rob politely asked if he could go to the gym on Monday, unless I wanted to? I made it to a spin class on Tuesday evening, and on Wednesday, Rob volunteered to collect the girls so I could dash to an early parent’s evening at their school, to be told what we could expect Maisie and Tilly to be learning during the autumn term in Year 2 and Nursery 2, respectively.

When I got back, he’d opened a bottle of wine – because, although it was our all new date night, I hadn’t been able to find a babysitter – and made his pasta dish. I turned my phone off, so did he, and we watched Passengers together: a movie about a spaceship transporting thousands of hibernating people to colonise a new planet. One man wakes up ninety years too early and, after a year alone, deliberately wakes a female passenger he’s been watching sleep to join him. I silently wondered if Rob would choose to wake me up if his pod malfunctioned, or if he’d select Hannah instead, but then pushed the thought firmly away.

We went to bed too late after it ended disappointingly, and I didn’t really want to have sex – although I knew we probably ought to. Thankfully, Tilly woke up while I was brushing my teeth, and by the time I went back to bed, Rob was already dozing. We hugged until we fell asleep, however. It was a start. We were both trying.

On Thursday, 14 September, four days after I’d come back from Ibiza, the last on my list of lunchtime call-backs was a Christy Day. The name was unfamiliar to me, and Jen, the receptionist, had made the note

which probably meant Ms Day had some sort of gynae issue. I scanned through her medical record – her last appointment had been with David, on 7 August, at which he’d prescribed Zopiclone for insomnia.

I dialled, and a slightly breathy, high voice said: ‘Hello?’

‘Can I speak to Christy Day, please?’

‘Dr Inglis? Thank you for calling me back.’

‘How can I help?’ I glanced at the clock and tried to sound friendly. I was barely going to get five minutes to eat my sandwich at this rate.

‘Well, this is rather embarrassing, but I’ve had severe diarrhoea and vomiting for the last three days. I can’t seem to keep anything down at all.’

I unwrapped my sandwich and got it ready. ‘Not even water?’

‘Not really, no. I’m getting a bit frightened. I’d go to the hospital, but I don’t want everyone there to get it. Do you think you could come and see me at home today, Dr Inglis? I’m sorry to ask.’

I cursed inwardly. I wanted to get home in time to see the girls before they went to bed. ‘We don’t do home visits unless they’re absolutely necessary, Mrs Day.’ I glanced at her notes again, how old was she? Forty-nine. ‘You’re sure you couldn’t come into the surgery?’

‘But what about the infection risk?’

‘That’s OK,’ I assured her. ‘We could let you in through our side entrance and take you straight through to a consulting room.’

‘I honestly don’t think I could make it through the journey, if you know what I mean, doctor. I wouldn’t ask unless it was absolutely necessary.’

I tried not to grit my teeth crossly. After three days and now not keeping water down, she definitely needed to be seen, but… I forced a smile instead to make my voice sound cheery. ‘OK, Mrs Day. I can’t promise exactly what time it’ll be, as I have a couple of other house calls first, but I will come tonight.’

‘Thank you, doctor. I’m very grateful.’

So you should be, I thought gloomily, finally picking up my sandwich. The first appointment of the afternoon pinged onto my screen before I’d even had chance to take a bite.

---

My mood had not improved by the time I tiredly programmed my satnav with Christy Day’s address at around half past six.

She lived on the leafy south side of Tunbridge Wells, up a private drive off one of the nicest roads. It had once been an area discretely scattered with detached arts and crafts houses and their huge gardens. Over time, they’d all been sold to developers who had built luxury closes and cul-de-sacs of still very desirable executive homes. Christy’s was a large contemporary version of the original thing – a half-tiled hung double frontage with leaded windows and immaculate lawns. I whistled enviously as I drove down the drive. I wanted to move in immediately.

Crunching over the gravel past a sporty little Merc and a chunky black Range Rover, I rang the bell, and a dog started distantly barking somewhere. The enormous honeyed oak front door opened to reveal a classically attractive man in exceptionally good shape, not just for his late forties. He was unseasonably dressed in tennis whites, shorts and trainers – presumably to show off such a muscular, hard-earned physique – and was a little too tanned with an absolutely immaculate full head of suspiciously brown hair that looked almost sprayed into place. He flashed a bright white smile at me, and I extended a hand.

‘Hello, I’m Dr Alex Inglis.’

He took it and we firmly shook. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Gary Day, Christy’s husband.’

I struggled to think who he reminded me of, only to realise it was Maisie’s Ken doll, who’d been kicking around her plastic princess house dressed in nothing more than a bandana and moulded pants for months. The likeness was uncanny. I suppressed a smile, at which his eyebrows briefly flickered with interest. That was enough to refocus me instantly.

‘Your wife is upstairs?’ I said pointedly, taking back my hand.

‘No, she’s in the kitchen actually.’

Kitchen? With severe D&V? My mood darkened as I stepped into a vast oak-floored hall and he closed the door behind me. A tiny, fluffy, white dog began to bounce down the stairs yapping and wagging its tail enthusiastically. Gary bent to scoop it up as it got to the bottom step and let off another volley of yips.

‘Shhh, Angel! I know, you want to say hello. You’re such a girl’s girl!’ He strode across the hall, opened a door, and dropped the dog in, before shutting it again quickly. He turned back to me and grinned. ‘All safe. Come this way.’

I followed him through yet another set of double doors, which, this time, opened into a cavernous cream kitchen/diner and TV area, complete with a dazzling ceramic floor that a thousand ceiling spotlights appeared to be bouncing off. I blinked and saw first my own reflection in the acre of wall-length bifold doors opposite – incongruous in my navy trench coat against the otherwise completely sterile palette – before my gaze moved left to where a woman was perched on a bar stool next to an island, on which sat three fizzing glasses of what appeared to be champagne.

She was wearing white, tight jeans – an odd choice for a woman with chronic D&V – and a soft, grey sweater that clung to an obviously still fabulous figure. She flicked back Farrah Fawcett hair, gave me a megawatt Charlie’s Angel smile, and stood up, before putting an immaculately French-polished nail in her mouth and saying coyly: ‘Hello, Dr Inglis, I’m Christy Day. Please don’t hate me, but I’ve been a little bit naughty.’ She picked up one of the flutes and offered it to me.

I stayed exactly where I was. ‘Mrs Day, I’m confused. You told me you needed urgent medical attention.’

Gary came round and stood between us, before adding smoothly: ‘We’ll cut straight to the chase, Als. We want you to come and work for us.’

Als? I looked at them blankly. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘We moved to this house about eight months ago to finish developing and overseeing the opening of our fifth new spa and country club. It’s about six miles away from here; you’ll have seen the plans in the local press,’ Christy said cosily. ‘Gary’s heading up the gym side – that’s his area of expertise – and I’m doing the spa. I know you used to run a Botox clinic locally. A friend had some filler work done by you and it was fab.u.lous!’ She twinkled at me. ‘She also knows your friend Stef Knowles, actually, who said you might be keen to talk to us? The trouble is, we joined your practice when we moved to this catchment area, and I knew that if I called the surgery legitimately and was up front about what we wanted, because I’m your patient, you would probably have just thought “conflict of interest” and dismissed it; whereas I was sure if I could just get you over here to look at our plans and see how exciting what we have to offer is…’

My mouth fell open in disbelief. She wasn’t ill at all.

‘We need someone with proper experience and the credentials, you see,’ Gary interrupted. ‘We’ve done some digging around, and you’ve got both.’ He closed one eye, pretended to take aim and fired at me with his thumb and finger. ‘We know we’ve found our girl.’

I tried not to think about the very ill little four-year-old I’d seen just before them, and her frightened mum, who had apologised profusely for dragging me out, even though she’d been quite right to. Then I thought about Maisie and Tilly, patiently waiting for me to get home, and cleared my throat. OK, so it seemed we loosely had friends in common, but they couldn’t possibly think getting me here under false pretences on NHS time was acceptable? That I should be flattered? ‘As you don’t actually require any medical attention, Mrs Day, I’m going to leave now.’

‘Oh, you’re not, not really?’ Christy’s smile slipped, and she pouted.

Who on earth did she think she was? And what made them think I’d want to work with them after this anyway, when they’d been prepared to adopt such underhand techniques?

‘You’re here now,’ Gary wheedled, friendly wide smile at the ready again. ‘Just a quick look at the plans, Als. Come on.’

His tone had become firm. It was almost an instruction. I turned and stared at him, as I considered the elderly patient I’d seen earlier in the day who had somehow managed to get himself to the surgery on the bus despite being in severe pain. He wouldn’t have dreamt of asking me to come out to his house. I began to feel very angry indeed. ‘It’s Dr Inglis, thank you.’

He looked surprised, and Christy put her hands on her hips. ‘All right, I don’t think there’s any need to be a snotty bitch about it.’

I sighed wearily. Great. She was one of those sorts of women.

‘Chris,’ Gary said warningly.

‘No, I think perhaps we have actually made a mistake, Gary.’ She stared challengingly at me and crossed her arms.

I ignored her insult. Experience had taught me not to go there. ‘Mrs Day, if you had been honest with me and asked me to come and meet you here to discuss your business opportunity, I would have quickly run it past a colleague, but I probably would have said yes.’ I addressed her politely and sincerely. ‘As things stand now, I think I’ll see myself out.’

I turned on my heels, clutching my bag tightly, smugly pleased that I’d kept both my temper and the moral high ground.

I’d almost made it to the kitchen door when voices and laughter carrying down the hall towards us grew suddenly much louder and an extremely pretty teenage girl burst into the room. She was clutching her phone in one hand and giggling flirtatiously, winding a piece of long blonde hair round her finger with the other. Her school shirt was untucked over a grey miniskirt that just about covered her arse, and a tall boy in school uniform behind her was yanking on a bag slung across her body, trying to pull her back towards him.

Everyone jumped as my bag, having slipped from my fingers, dropped onto the hard tiles with the dull crack of something smashing within. The girl pulled an ‘awkward!’ face – clearly thinking that they’d had the house to themselves – and added a slightly insincere ‘sorry.’

But I was paralysed, my limbs hanging useless by my side as I stared at the young couple, or rather the boy.

It was him.

The twenty-five-year-old from Pacha I’d woken up next to four days ago.

Right in front of me.

In school uniform.

It was like feeling someone’s outstretched fingers dragging across the bare skin on my shoulders, then clawing up the back of my scalp, before hands settled around my neck and started to squeeze. I was literally unable to breathe.

He stared back at me, those big brown eyes wide with confusion, his mouth slightly open. He knew exactly who I was too. I simply couldn’t make any sense of how he was dressed. Without the ridiculous nub of a school tie at his neck – worn deliberately short to tick a box – he could have been mistaken for an office junior. He didn’t have any of the gawkiness or angular thinness of a typical male teenager, rather the solid arms that I remembered holding me – and there was the bottom of his tattoo just visible under the edge of his rolled-up sleeve – but there was no mistaking that it was a school uniform he was wearing.

My mind began to panic and scramble. I had to do, or say, something; they were all looking at me. Why was he even here? He must be their daughter’s boyfriend. I needed to leave. I had to get out. I bent wildly to grab my belongings, almost going over on my ankle in my haste. Gary put an arm out to steady me, only for us all to see – as I righted myself and snatched up the handles – a wide crack snaking through the centre of the glossy tile underneath. The medical equipment in the bag had been heavy enough to break it on impact.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ exploded Christy, marching straight across, all pretence at sweetness and light now completely gone. ‘Look what’s she’s done!’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I swallowed, stepping back, as Gary bent down and ran his finger over it and they all peered at the floor. Only the boy continued to stare at me. I couldn’t help but give him another horrified glance. ‘It was an accident. I’ll go. I’m sorry.’

Desperate to escape, I pushed roughly past the daughter, who said ‘Hey!’ in irritable amazement, and rushed away down the hall. Struggling with the front door, terrified that one of them was going to follow after me and demand an explanation, I managed to get it open. Just about staying upright in my heels, I practically ran over to the car, scrabbled in my pocket for my keys and jumped in. Fumbling with the fob, I began to shake as Christy appeared in the doorway of the house, angrily calling something after me that I couldn’t hear.

I somehow got the car started, as Gary appeared alongside his wife, just in time to see me lurch forward and spin round on the gravel, almost hitting a silver Golf with a personalised plate that had been dumped right in my way. Spitting up an arc of sharp stones over their other cars, I swung sharply round it as Gary shouted furiously, pushing past Christy. I whimpered aloud as I roared off up their drive, glancing back in my rear-view mirror to see him bent over, inspecting the front of his Range Rover.

I kept going until I was back on the main road, then turned right, and hurried down the hill that led to the bottom of town and the Sainsbury’s roundabout. The traffic was still heavy, and although I kept checking behind me, I couldn’t see either of their cars in pursuit. I turned left, and drove sharply out of the town, towards Eridge and home.

‘Oh my god, oh my god,’ I whispered aloud in the car, as I stared at the road in front of me. School uniform. Exactly how old was he? He couldn’t be under sixteen. He just couldn’t. He didn’t physically look that young, but then, that didn’t mean he definitely wasn’t. I’d patched up plenty of rugby players over the years who’d looked years older than they actually were. I took one hand from the wheel and put it to my head in shock. I’d been surprised by how fresh-faced he was the morning afterwards, I remembered thinking that, but not that he looked like a child. I forced myself to think about him again, standing there in the Days’ kitchen, and tried more accurately to mentally gauge his actual age, within the context of his uniform. Oh please, God, I hadn’t had sex with a minor? I slowed down as I reached the top of the hill, turned right opposite Bunny Lane, and drove into Broadwater Forest.

If he was under sixteen I would face criminal charges. I’d lose everything; my job – without question, almost certainly Rob, possibly even my girls. A moan of fear escaped my lips. I didn’t know. I didn’t know!

I tried to think rationally. I needed to find out exactly how old he was. What about his tattoo? He would have to be eighteen to get that done. Although, I’d also seen enough botched jobs over my career to know scores of less reputable parlours would turn a blind eye to legalities. It wasn’t a reliable reference point. My mind turned instead to the Days’ daughter. I would be updating Christy’s patient record in the morning; I could look on the cohabiting part of her record, which would give me her daughter’s date of birth. Girls never went out with boys younger than them, did they? At least then I’d have a minimum cut-off point to work from. Except, what about Stef? She might know the daughter’s age and that would be even quicker. Christy Day clearly said Stef recommended me, or told a friend to recommend me, someone who I’d done work on?

I pulled over immediately, chucked the hazard lights on and, ducking down, bent quickly to pull out my mobile. I thought Stef was going to let it go to voicemail, but, thank God, she picked up at the last minute.

‘Hey, Al? You all right?’ she asked curiously. I never normally called her around the girls’ bedtime.

‘Which of your friends have I done fillers for, locally?’ I blurted, not even bothering with hello and barely noticing the dark forest either side of me. Normally I hate driving through it alone at this time of year. Rob insisted when we bought the house that I’d get used to it, but six years later, I still haven’t.

‘What? At your clinic, at The Stables, you mean? I don’t know.’ She paused. ‘Melanie, Tessa; I think you did Nicola too, didn’t you? I can’t really remember, why?’

‘OK, which of them know a couple called Gary and Christy Day?’

‘Oh – that’s Nic. The Days own all of those luxury spas. Nic said she’d get you in there! Why, has she come good?’

‘Yes. I’ve just been to the Days’ house. They’re actually patients at the practice, but I didn’t recognise them. They said a friend had passed them my name, via you.’

‘Great!’ Stef sounded delighted. ‘Hang on though – you don’t sound pleased? Is there a problem?’

‘No,’ I lied hastily. ‘I shouldn’t have told you that they’re patients, but they’ve got a teenage daughter and I want to find out how old she is. That’s all.’

‘Sorry, Al. I’ve no idea.’

‘Could you ask Nicola? Sorry to be odd and vague. It’s just… doctor stuff. Honestly nothing to worry about though.’

‘I can if you want me to – but that’s going to be a weird question for me to ask her out of the blue? She’s going to want to know why.’

‘Of course, sorry.’ I realised she was right. I wasn’t thinking straight. ‘Forget I asked.’

‘Maybe try Google instead?’ she suggested.

‘I don’t even know her name.’

‘Well – it might be listed in a news item or something. Hope you get the info you need, Al.’

What I needed was to go back seven days and not get on that plane to Ibiza.

I hung up and googled

It took me straight to a very upmarket website. I discovered that the new club would indeed be the Days’ fifth in a rapidly expanding chain and Gary was listed as the CEO, but that was it. No further information, and Christy didn’t appear on the site at all. I checked Gary’s LinkedIn profile and that was no better. I wanted to scan Facebook too, but realised suddenly that I was already creating a paper trail; links to my online searches that – if this boy did turn out to be, technically, a child – would almost certainly be examined. Could I explain everything on there so far? The Days had offered me a job out of the blue. It was only natural that I would have done a search on them after the event. But already, I felt too scared to continue, and almost dropped the phone in fright when it began to ring in my hands.

It was Rob, so I ignored it. I was practically home anyway and didn’t trust myself to speak to him. Seconds later a text pinged through, checking where I was, as it was getting late. What time should he put supper on?

I looked up into my frightened eyes reflected back in the rear-view mirror and tried to calm myself down, forcing myself to breathe deeply. It was just beginning to work when, in front of me, illuminated by my stationary headlights, I saw a movement to my left, in among the shadowy trees. I froze, and screamed, as something burst from between them and a bloody great deer leapt into the road. It stopped and eerily stared right at me, head lifted on high alert as the lights shone into its shiny black eyes, ears cupped forward and body stiff. Just as abruptly, it broke right and wheeled off into the thicket on the other side of the road, vanishing ghost-like into the dark.

I pulled away immediately, utterly unnerved. I just wanted to get home… but then I imagined myself telling Rob what had just happened at the house call and automatically took my foot back off the accelerator.

I’d told him the man in Ibiza was a stranger. I’d not even hinted about his age. How could I tell Rob, a mere four days later, that, not only had I just seen him again, in our home town, I also wasn’t one hundred per cent sure, but he might be sixteen, or under.

The car began to slow as I pictured Rob’s face: disbelief and disgust at this very different kind of betrayal. I had to know exactly how old this boy was before I said anything to Rob. I needed to be dealing in certainties so I knew what we were facing.

Sitting up a little straighter, I swallowed. A possible minor. Cold stillness settled over me. I began to feel oddly composed. I knew this was not going to go away and I had no intention of trying to pretend it would.

I couldn’t deny being at the Days’. Christy’s call was logged on the practice system; Jen had documented it and put it through to me. I’d called back. The Days had witnessed me in the boy’s presence, while he was wearing school uniform. I would not be able to argue, going forward, that I was unaware of his age.

I was already committed.

I thought back to the Ibiza hotel room as I drove steadily past the Forestry Commission clearing and round the last bend before our cottage. In truth, I remembered very little about the act itself, I’d been so drunk – but we had definitely had sex. Being in the club and kissing him was only marginally clearer in my mind. I could almost hear a barrister asking, in disbelief, ‘and you’re a family GP, Dr Inglis? A mother yourself?’

I reached home, pulling straight into the drive because the gate was open, turned the lights off and sat for a moment in the safe, quiet car. I would wait and not say anything until I’d looked at Christy Day’s record in the morning. Then I would decide what to do and what action I needed to take. There was a chance that he could possibly be as old as seventeen, or even eighteen. Still horrendous, but legal.

The front door opened, and Rob appeared, frowning curiously as he waited. I tried to smile, reaching for my bag and phone, before taking a deep breath and getting out.

‘Too tired to stand up?’ Rob said sympathetically as I reached him. ‘You look shattered. I’ve made you some food and it’s almost ready. Come in.’

He bustled off into the kitchen, and I kicked my shoes into the understairs cupboard before removing my coat and slinging it over the bannisters. True to his word, Rob had laid the table and was carefully dishing up a stir-fry when I appeared in the room.

‘Long day, then?’ he asked conversationally.

I hesitated and, in that split second, despite all of my reasoning, I almost told him the truth, but was distracted by something on the table that caught my eye; I paused, reached over and picked up another picture.

‘I know,’ Rob sighed. ‘More Maisie “happy family” drawings.’

I looked at the smiling Mummy, Daddy and daughters – all holding hands.

‘Do you think she’s picked up on some of the tension over the last three weeks and is trying to communicate her anxiety about it the only way she knows how?’ Rob looked at me worriedly.

Oh Maisie. My eyes flooded with tears. What had I done? I heard myself on the phone to Rachel saying so blithely that Rob and I were going to put all of this behind us and move on. ‘Probably, yes.’

‘To be fair to us, I don’t think it’s only that,’ Rob said. ‘She asked me if she could look at my wedding ring while we were having tea and said: “you and Mummy always wear your married rings”. Like she was checking, or something. We had a chat and it turns out Polly’s parents in her class are getting divorced. We talked about what that meant, and she asked me if I’ll always keep loving you, and you’ll always keep loving me. I said of course. I promised her we won’t get divorced. Because we won’t, Al.’ He looked across at me. ‘Don’t cry. It’s true.’

I nodded and tried to wipe away my tears. Would he still be saying that, if he knew?

We ate tea; we watched some TV. We went to bed and, for the first time since Rob had told me about Hannah, we had quiet, under-the-duvet sex.

‘I love you,’ Rob gasped, afterwards.

‘I love you too,’ I said, and I meant it. It was one of those moments where actually saying the words wasn’t enough to explain the depth of what I felt for him.

---

I admit that I initiated sex that evening, which does not prove I was ‘excited’ at having seen the boy again. I wanted to be close to my husband. I wanted to pretend everything was going to be all right, but mostly I wanted to pretend that none of it had happened in the first place.