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Catherine braces herself, but there is nothing left to come up. She grips the cold enamel and raises her head to look in the mirror. The face that looks back at her is not the one she went to bed with. She has seen this face before but hoped never to see it again. She studies herself in this new harsh light and wets a flannel, wiping her mouth then pressing it against her eyes as if she can extinguish the fear in them.

“Are you okay?”

Her husband’s voice startles her. She hoped he would stay asleep. Leave her alone.

“Better now,” she lies, switching off the light. Then she lies again. “Must have been last night’s takeaway.” She turns to him, a shadow in the dead-hour light.

“Go back to bed. I’m fine,” she whispers. He is more asleep than awake, but still he reaches out and puts his hand on her shoulder.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” she says. All she is sure about is that she needs to be alone.

“Robert. Honestly. I’ll be there in a minute.”

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