I have to admit, seeing my partner’s novel in colourful, glossy piles in the windows of the biggest bookshop in the city felt good. He’d been working on it for more than two years, while I paid the bills, and when he’d sent it away to a big publisher, the arrival of a massive, £50,000 advance cheque had been amazing.

Bill had done most of the work, but I’d done my bit: it was one of our rituals to read a few pages together, every Sunday afternoon and discuss the character, plot, and future developments. Bill preferred it that way. I left him alone for the rest of the week as he said he could concentrate better that way. In a little office he rented. No distraction.

I’d been looking forward to getting my hands on the first copy and I’d been queuing since 8 a.m., waiting for the shop to open. Bill was going to be so surprised when he got home tonight. I have to say, I was very surprised that the publisher didn’t give him an advance copy , if only to proof read it, but what do I know about publishing? Maybe they do it all by email these days? Well they’re paying, so I guess they get to call the shots.

There’d been a big publicity campaign, telling people how good the novel is. Transformational, one called it. Bill’s been giving interviews and telling people how it’s all based on his own life experiences. There’s been so much hype that the queue to buy it snaked round the block. I’m so proud…

My heart skipped a beat as the bookshop staff unlocked the door and the crowd surged forward, which caught me by surprise. They’re so keen! Still, I’d made sure I was near the head of the queue. I had to get a copy today! Bill’s first published novel!

At twenty quid, it wasn’t cheap, but it’s all money in Bill’s pocket, and from the way the crowd were buying the copies, they would be sold out soon!

I hugged my precious copy to my chest and made my way to the checkout.

“I’ve heard it’s brilliant!!” The cashier was bubbling with enthusiasm. “Best erotic fantasy since Fifty Shades! Better, even!”

“Erotic fantasy? But I thought it was a mystery novel…”

“Oh no. It’s about a bored husband who manages to sleep with every woman under the age of 70 in his entire street! He tells his wife he’s writing a novel, but sets up a shag-pad and gets to it…

I didn’t need an imagination to know what “it” was.

I put the book back on the shelf. No point in letting Bill know that I knew. I dare say I’ll be able to pick up a copy in a few months as evidence in the divorce courts. I can wait. Half of a just published author’s assets aren’t much. But half of a multimillion selling author’s assets are something else entirely.