THE D WORD AFTER SO LONG TOGETHER, IS THIS THE END?

A move to Dorset was meant to signal a fresh start, but it doesn’t take long for their new life to unravel...

Moving house is supposed to be one of life’s most stressful events. They don’t mention how much more stressful it becomes when you move away from family and friends, and attempt to create a new life with your partner in a small village, or the added difficulty of moving when your once-happy marriage is hanging by a thread. But it was too late to turn back, and neither of us was prepared to give up before we’d tried one last time.

And initially, having moved from London to Dorset, things did seem to improve. For the first time in years, we had money. Richard was optimistic about running his business from home, while I imagined how lovely it would be to go and stay with friends in London, on my own. Over the years, our social life had become claustrophobic – I had more friends, but because Richard got on well with them, he’d often invite himself to my evenings out, and it seemed churlish to refuse.

I ignored how frustrated I sometimes felt as I stood at the bar, watching him laugh with a female friend of mine. There was no sexual jealousy – I just needed time alone with my friends to offload my feelings and anxieties about life without Richard’s face crumpling into bafflement. “I didn’t know you felt like that…” he’d say, and suddenly the conversation would turn to his own feelings. I seethed with resentment but couldn’t see how to change anything without seeming petty or triggering another row.

I was less able to hide those feelings, though, two weeks into our new life, when my best friend came to stay.

Though Helen and I had bonded instantly, she and Richard had become friends too. He had turned to her in our bad patches and she’d appreciated his advice when one of her sporadic relationships unravelled.

I hadn’t anticipated how much I would long to get her alone, to talk about what was happening – how I no longer felt attracted to my husband, how I’d lost my self-esteem. Richard’s idea of a compliment was, “You’re very difficult, but I still love you.” He thought I was pessimistic, always dwelling on the worst-case scenario; I regarded his optimism as childish.

On Helen’s first night, we all got drunk at the kitchen table, she enthusing about the cottage and us saying how wonderful it all was. The next morning, though, Richard couldn’t find his car keys. Again. Hungover and bad-tempered, he snapped: “Where did you put them?”

I felt a rush of fury, and snapped back: “It’s not me that’s constantly losing everything…” and from that tiny exchange, a Krakatoan row erupted. Helen stayed in her room – she’s seen us argue before, but never like this. All the disappointment, the anger, the lack of acknowledgment came pouring out, and then I shouted, “I don’t even know why we’re together!” and he snarled back: “Nor do I.”

There was a long silence, eventually broken by the creak of Helen’s door opening.