Oli gives me a curious look. ‘You don’t have to always hold it together, you know,’ he says. ‘Everyone gives her a hard time. I feel sorry for your mum.’

I’m on my mettle. ‘You don’t know what she’s like.’

‘I do, because you’ve told me. Many times,’ he says, and then he bites his tongue, clamping his mouth shut. There’s a silence again, and I can hear my heart beating.

‘I’m sorry, I’ve obviously been real y boring about it,’ I say snappishly. I hate the tone in my voice.

Oli blinks impatiently. ‘Come on, Natasha,’ he says, as if to say, You’re being childish now. He jiggles his legs im patiently. ‘I probably don’t know what I’m talking about. Your family is a mystery to me.’ He has his palms out in a conciliatory gesture and though I know he learned this on a negotiation training course a couple of months ago I nod, because he’s right, though it irritates me.

‘They’re a mystery to me, too.’

‘I’m sure they are.’ Oli smiles and shakes his head.

I wish I could confide in him, with an ache that surprises me with its intensity. I wish we were here and it was normal again.

I would tel him about the meeting at the bank. Work out what we were going to do about it, the two of us. I would tel him about the diary and what Octavia said. Maybe we’d sit at the table and read it together. I could ask his advice, talk about where we both think the next part is, whether Mum knows about it, what I should do. I would ask about his day, about the little things that have been bothering him: whether the ad agency was happy with the campaign they put together for a new brand of peanut, or the pitch they’re doing for a big trainer company, and how the new guy from Apple who’s joined them is working out, and what he had for lunch that day and whether he remembered it’s his moth-er’s birthday in a week’s time, and . . .

We were so close, we used to joke about it. I hated it when the door closed behind him as he left for work in the mornings. I missed him al day.

He made the demons go away and the happy, sane Natasha I wanted to be stay in the room. I was even glad when he had the stomach flu and was off for two days, isn’t that dreadful? I didn’t go into the studio for two days either, I stayed at home with him and we watched Die Hard and Hitch, his favourite films, and I made him chicken broth. We both longed for the weekends, forty-eight hours together, just the two of us, Oli and Natasha, walking down Brick Lane hand in hand, cooking up a storm in the kitchen, bickering over what shower curtain to get, what dish was nicest at Tayyabs, whether to watch The Godfather Part II again or The Princess Bride.

We were our own unit of one. Joined together to make one. Both from broken families, both looking for love and reassurance, both wanting to make a home of our own, a new family, a fresh start.

So how did it come to this? That he has slept with someone else, broken my heart, kil ed our dreams stone dead? That we can’t say a kind word to each other, that we actual y dislike each other sometimes? How the hel did we get here?

My eyes roam round the room, as though I’m searching for something to say next. I find myself staring at the photo of our wedding day, almost the same as the one I have in the studio. It stands proudly in a silver frame on the lowest shelf by the TV. We are smiling. I stand up and look at it more closely. There is glitter on my dress; it sparkles softly in the evening light. Oli fol ows my gaze, and we look at the picture together.

‘Look at us,’ he says. ‘Funny, eh.’

‘I know,’ I say, closing my eyes, not wanting to look any more.

‘Where did it go wrong?’

When you fucked someone else. I pause, the quick retort on my lips, but I bite it back. ‘I don’t know.’ I shake my head, look down at him, his hair fal ing into his face.

He nods, as if acknowledging what I haven’t said. ‘I stil love you,’ he says, ‘but . . . I just . . . It’s been hard.’ He scrapes his knuckles along the wooden floor, stretching his arms out from the low chair.

‘I know that too,’ I say. ‘I don’t know when it started being like that. Before—’

‘I think it was a long time before,’ Oli says. ‘Long time?’ My eyes fly wide open at this. He puts his hands out again.

‘Not a long time, but a few months now, you know? Because when it started, and for a long time, you and me, wel – hah.’ He is smiling. ‘I thought we were the perfect couple. I think the problem is we changed. Both of us. And we didn’t notice. I think we’ve become different people from the people we wanted to be at university, the people we were then, and that’s the problem.’

‘Perhaps it has,’ I say slowly. He’s right. He’s changed. So I probably have too. ‘I haven’t been easy.’

‘Neither have I.’ He smiles. ‘But it didn’t used to matter, did it?’

‘No.’ I smile back. ‘It didn’t.’

Oli looks into my eyes from across the sitting room, and suddenly the distance is nothing. ‘I loved everything about you, even the stuff I didn’t agree with, the things I didn’t understand.’

‘Me too,’ I say, clasping my hands in front of me and looking at him. ‘Ol, do you think that—’

‘I don’t know,’ he says simply. ‘I don’t know where it’s gone, and I don’t know if we can ever get it back.’

I take a deep breath. ‘You had a one-night stand,’ I say. ‘One night. You know – perhaps it’s – OK. Perhaps we just agree to move on . . .

Perhaps we just say it’s not the end of the world.’

Oli puts his head in his hands. He gives a little groan. Someone is shouting something outside in the street. I watch my husband, fear inside my head, in my heart.

‘Oli?’ I say gently. ‘Oh, God. Natasha, that’s why we need to talk. I didn’t want to say it like this.’

I swal ow. ‘Why?’

‘Come on . . .’ His eyes peer at me through his fingers, like bars on a window. ‘It wasn’t a one-night stand. You must know that.’

‘What?’ I rock on my heels. I feel as though he’s just punched me.

‘Chloe and I – it wasn’t just once. It’s more than that – it’s, wel . It’s been going on for a while.’

‘But—’ I shake my head. ‘No, Oli—’

‘That’s why I’m here, Natasha,’ he says, getting up, struggling out of the chair and standing in front of me. ‘I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t what you want to hear.’

I clear my throat, and when I speak, I am surprised by how calm my voice is. ‘You think – you think we should split up. Permanently.’

Oli tugs his hair, hard, and then looks straight at me. ‘I don’t know. Probably. Yes.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘Hi, Nat. Same again?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Flat white coming up, my dear. Sit back down, it’l be ready in a minute.’

I sit down at the counter, watching the organised mayhem behind as Arthur, the owner, and his two cohorts juggle with beans, huge silver machines belching steam, frothing milk, and paper cups, as people stand patiently waiting for their orders to come through. I watch the world go by, the smel of fresh bagels from the shop next door wafting tantalisingly in, as Brick Lane slowly comes alive again. I love the early mornings here, before the tourists and the hungry hordes arrive, when it’s just people who live here, work here.

I have been here since it opened at seven, sitting on a tal stool, staring out of the window and trying to read the papers, but I can’t. I haven’t slept yet. It is just after eight.

‘Nat?’ someone behind me says. ‘Hey, I thought it was you.’

I turn round slowly, and look up. ‘Oh, Ben. Hi.’

Ben stares at me. I must look delightful, unbrushed hair, no sleep, bump on forehead, in an assortment of crazy clothes. I had to get out of the flat. ‘How weird.’ He stares at me. ‘I was just thinking about you. We didn’t see you yesterday after lunch. Wondered if you were OK. Tania, look—’

He pats his girlfriend’s arm and Tania looks up. She smiles when she sees me. ‘Nat, how are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ I say. They both look me over. ‘You don’t look fine,’ Ben says. ‘Natasha . . . ?’ I look through the window. Oli is staring at me. He pushes open the door. ‘Where the hel did you go?’ he says angrily. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, you just ran off—’

‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ I say. I push my hand through my hair.

Ben and Tania are stil staring at us, with increasing discomfort.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Oli, you’ve met Ben. And this is Tania.’ I wave my arm limpidly at them, as if it’s fil ed with heavy liquid.

Ben steps forward. ‘Hi, Oli,’ he says. He stretches out one thick, blue jumper-clad arm. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

‘Thanks,’ Oli says, pumping his arm back heartily. ‘Ben – yes, it’s good to see you. We met at that open studio night a few months ago, didn’t we? You’re a photographer, aren’t you, I real y liked your stuff.’

This conversation is unreal. I want to pinch myself. ‘Hey. Thanks. Thanks a lot.’ Ben smiles at him, and turns back to me.

‘Tania’s Ben’s girlfriend. She works with him,’ I say. ‘Not any more,’ Tania says hurriedly, as if she wants to fil the void. ‘But we used to.’

Oli waves his hand to attract Arthur’s attention. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.’ How could I not have noticed she wasn’t working there any more?

‘No, it’s fine,’ she says, smiling. Ben drums his fingers on the counter. ‘Look, we should go,’ he says. ‘Um – good to see you both. See you around, I guess,’ he says to Oli.

‘Sure, mate,’ Oli says, not real y listening. ‘Nat – see you at the studio.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘See you – see you soon.’ I watch them go, Ben striding down the street, Tania next to him. It occurs to me then that they didn’t order anything.