Despite the knitted hat, Kendra’s waist-length hair swirled around her as traffic breezed by, but she barely noticed it, her vision filled with the building she stared at. She glared past the red awning with its cream writing swirled across it. Past the window she couldn’t see into because the low winter sun reflected on it blindingly. All she saw was the scene she imagined playing out inside. It blocked out the reality of people scurrying along the streets that then opened into twin lanes pulling away from each other to form the wedge of Blackheath village’s hub. Heads down, hands in pockets, hunched against the cold, faces hidden by hats, leaving a contrail of breath, they swarmed by, taking as little notice of her as she took of them.

Her own cheeks felt as if someone pinched them, it was so cold. She didn’t walk away, though, only tugged her scarf and coat collar higher around her neck, pulled the woollen hat closer down around her head.

Someone was coming out of the door. She twitched, one foot sliding forward on the pavement. No, it was a tall, thin man with a balding head and a full beard, pulling on his beanie hat. Definitely not her quarry.

She glanced at her watch. Ben’s wife was running late; she was usually out of the restaurant by now. What was keeping her?

Kendra had been with Ben for about a year the first time she had set eyes on his wife. He had got into a routine of seeing her on a Friday afternoon, but hadn’t been able to on that occasion. She had tortured herself that he was spending time with his wife, not in a business meeting as he claimed, and so she had slunk to his house like an urban fox sniffing around a bin. There had been no sign of her lover’s car, only some vile yellow Smart car that must have been Dominique’s. Then she had appeared, tall, slender, and elegant; she was one of those annoying people with natural grace. Bitch. Kendra’s heart had sunk, buoyed only slightly when she noticed her rival walked with her feet slightly turned out, like Mary Poppins. It was good to know at least she had one flaw, though Kendra wondered if she had studied ballet as a youngster.

That day, so long ago now, Kendra had followed Dominique at a safe distance, unsure of what she was doing, or how it would end. Would Dominique turn on her suddenly, demanding to know who she was and what she was doing following her? Would she call the police? Worse, would she mention to her husband that she had been trailed by a mad woman, and when she described her stalker he would know instantly who it was?

Was it bad that she thought Ben knowing was worse than the police being called on her?

Ignoring the disturbing thoughts, Kendra had followed Dominique to the hairdresser’s, and discovered the weekly routine.

Rather than being sated by that look at her rival, Kendra’s curiosity had grown. The following week, she had her own locks cut and blow-dried at John Robertelli’s Hair Designs. The eye-watering bill had meant it was a one-off that could never be repeated even for a special occasion. Then she had followed Dominique and her friend to this restaurant, where they lunched.

As Kendra now stood across the road, she could picture exactly what would be happening in the interior. She knew that Dominique was sitting at her usual table tucked near the back of the restaurant, with her lawyer friend, Fiona.

Kendra glanced at her watch again. Only a minute had passed since the last time she’d looked. The pair must be getting the bill now, surely. Her legs trembled with the adrenaline singing through her bloodstream. She was so keyed up, she barely felt the cold slapping her as if trying to get sense into her head.

There.

Dominique appeared, swathed in a full-length camel-coloured coat, and pulling on her brown leather gloves. Her friend gave her a kiss on either cheek then walked away, turning to give one last cheery wave. Dominique grinned as she waved back, her cheeks glowing with wine and the sharp chill in the air.

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, Dominique started back towards home, a spring in her step. Kendra self-consciously stroked her own slightly wild waist-length mane into place, then stepped out in front of her.

‘Excuse me.’

Kendra cursed her trembling voice as she spoke to her lover’s wife.

Dominique managed to both frown and give a smile at the same time, treading the line between wary and friendly.

‘Yes? Are you lost?’

She must have picked up on Kendra’s Edinburgh accent and taken the hesitation as shyness. Kendra almost nodded in relief at being given an out. But she shook her head and ploughed on.

‘Are you married to Ben Thomas?’

‘Yes? Why?’ The smile disappeared.

‘I’m Kendra; his mistress.’

It sounded so dramatic putting it like that. But Kendra didn’t know how else to describe herself. She was lover, friend, confidante, partner, so much more than any single word conveyed, but mistress would do as shorthand for now. It had the desired effect, Dominique taking a step back, clearly horrified by what she had heard.

But then she pulled herself up, crossed her arms, and looked down her nose at Kendra.

‘Really? When do you see my husband, exactly?’

‘Umm, well, all the time,’ Kendra flustered. ‘Friday afternoons, I see him a lot.’

‘Are you sure we’re talking about the same Ben Thomas?’ asked Dominique. ‘Describe him for me.’

‘Well, he’s, he’s, erm, five feet eleven. Dark hair. Stocky build. Handsome. Blue eyes, you know. Bit of a wonky nose because of the rugby—’

‘What’s his date of birth?’

‘His birthday is 27 August. He’s forty-eight.’

‘Well, it seems we are talking about the same person.’ Dominique gave a cold toss of her head, freshly curled hair bouncing. ‘What exactly do you want?’

Kendra hadn’t expected to be questioned. To have to prove she was telling the truth. This wasn’t how it went in films. She had expected disbelief, sure, and even braced for a slap across the face. But a cold and calculating questioning? That was just weird. She found herself shrugging, hands open.

‘What do I want? Well, to tell you… that – that I’m seeing your husband. We celebrated our fourth anniversary a couple of months ago. He wants to leave you and the kids, but he hasn’t got the courage to tell you, not yet. But it’s only a matter of time.’

The other woman blinked rapidly, twice; the only sign she gave of being hurt. ‘You thought you’d give him a helping hand out of the door, is that it?’

‘Continuing the charade isn’t going to help anyone. You need to let him go.’

One perfectly arched eyebrow rose. ‘Oh, I do? Well, thank you for the tip, but I’ll decide what happens in my marriage.’

With that Dominique swept past her, imperious as an ice queen. Kendra watched her open-mouthed as she disappeared up the right-hand spur of the split road. It was only when Ben’s wife went around the corner that Kendra allowed herself to sag.

‘What the hell was that all about?’ she asked herself out loud. The man who had been walking towards her crossed the road to avoid the obvious nutter.

She shoved her hands into her pockets and stomped off, furious with herself, eager to burn away the anger with a brief but breakneck walk to the train station. Her cosy Charlton flat was calling her.

Kendra had thought she was pulling the pin in a grenade that would blow Ben’s marriage to smithereens. Now she worried it had badly misfired.

No; no matter how calm Dominique seemed, she would surely go ballistic once her husband got home. Then, finally, Ben would belong to Kendra and only her.