Yes, he says at last, it had been an affair all along, though not sexual till very recently. I don’t believe the second part but at least I can breathe: I wasn’t mad, all last year. But the following day he claws back the ground he’s given, becomes proud and defensive and cold. He’s back in his concrete bunker and looks out at me through the slit, with a cool, appraising face. All he wants is to move along, to get to the bit where I cop the blame.