Her Turn to Cry: A gripping psychological thriller with twists you won’t see coming. Chris Curran

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      He sat looking at her for a moment then beckoned the waiter and asked for the bill. When it arrived he said, ‘Are you coming?’

      ‘You go. I’m going to have another glass of wine.’ Again it came out wrong. Too loud; too sharp. She had no reason to be angry with him. The kissing couple were staring at them, and their eyes followed Marcus as he left without looking back at her.

      She ordered some more wine and forced herself to drink the whole glass although she no longer wanted it. At the door she stumbled and heard a giggle from the pretty girl. The door clanged hard behind her, and she could feel the couple’s eyes still on her as she passed the window where they sat.

      Marcus had left their front door ajar. So stupid, anyone could have got in. She locked up and went into the living room. He was sitting on the sofa with two cups of coffee in front of him. ‘I made it nice and strong,’ he said.

      She tried a laugh. ‘Not strong enough for me,’ and went to the sideboard. ‘I need a brandy.’ Some of it spilled on the polished wood as she poured, and she wiped it away with her sleeve, slumping down in the armchair opposite him.

      He leaned forward. ‘Those letters must have upset you. You need time to let it all sink in. I shouldn’t have pushed you.’ His hands were on her knees, and when she flinched he pulled back. ‘Sorry.’

      That hank of blond hair was falling over his eyes again, and his face was so sad and sweet she felt a sob rise into her throat. She stood and looked down at him, trying to smile. ‘I’m the one who should say sorry.’ She stroked his hair, and he pressed his face into her waist.

      They stayed like that for a while then she knelt to give him a gentle kiss. But when he drew back she found herself looking at his lips and kissed him again, hard and greedy this time. He returned the pressure and moved to pushed her down onto the sofa, his hand pulling at the buttons of her blouse.

      ‘Oh, Joycie, I love you so much.’

      She was aware only of him, the musky scent of him, the warmth of his hands and his lips, the length of his body against hers. She opened her mouth to him and let her knees fall apart.