Em pulled away from George. ‘What do you mean, she’s gone? She must be in the bathroom.’ Nevertheless a queasy feeling rippled through her and she ran past them both. ‘Izzie? Izzie, where are you?’

No reply came. Jack tramped down the stairs, lifting his headphones off one ear to say, ‘Did you shout for me?’

‘No, I . . . Where’s your sister?’ Em thought about the clumping footsteps she’d heard minutes earlier, how Izzie had never actually appeared. She remembered how upset her daughter had been, the hurt look on her face after George had snapped at her on their way in.

Jack shrugged. ‘I dunno. Why are you freaking out?’

Em didn’t answer, just ran to the downstairs loo, flung the door open – nope – then had a thought and rushed to the hallway where they’d been keeping their bikes. ‘She’s taken her bike. She’s gone off somewhere,’ she said. Her heart was going into overdrive. Oh, help. Poor, upset Izzie, feeling as if no one was on her side. Where was she? Where had she gone? She grabbed her phone and dialled Izzie’s number, only to hear it ringing upstairs in the house. ‘She hasn’t even taken her phone with her,’ she said, anxiety rising.

‘I’m sure she hasn’t gone far,’ George said calmly, but Em was in no mood for calm.

‘I’m going out to look for her,’ she said, voice trembling. For a split-second she found herself wishing that Dom was there; Dom who would take charge and tell her not to worry, who was always able to talk Izzie out of a snit.

‘Wait, shall I—’ George started saying behind her, but Em was too panicked to let him finish the sentence.

‘You stay here in case she comes back,’ she said. ‘I need to find her.’ If she hadn’t been canoodling in the kitchen with George just now, if she’d gone up to Izzie to comfort her the moment it had occurred to her, this wouldn’t be happening. Priorities, Em! Where are your priorities? Her heart still pounding, she snatched up the car keys and whirled out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter Fourteen

Earlier that morning Olivia had surfaced into wakefulness like a diver swimming up from the depths, a traveller returning from distant shores. She had slept, she marvelled, lying flat on her back in the gorgeously comfortable bed and staring up at the old beamed ceiling above. She had actually slept, for the whole night without a single disturbance. It felt . . . weird. Good, but wrong, as if it had been at someone else’s expense.

Yeah, your husband’s expense, and your kids’, a sarcastic voice in her head pointed out. Do you think they slept well without you last night? Well, do you?