‘Doesn’t it make you angry?’ they want to know.

No, that’s the thing. She shakes her head. It is as if the blood has been drained from her veins, she just feels weak. Nor would he tolerate it if she were to get angry, he would leave and she can’t risk that because then she will die.

‘But perhaps he’ll change?’ she asks them.

They smile and exchange knowing glances.

‘How old is he?’

‘Forty-two.’

‘Do you think he can change?’

The honest answer – that he will never change – hangs in the air. But she can’t say it. It is impossible. She believes in love, she has to believe in it, there is nothing else to believe in.