My whole body goes cold. Who? What is she talking about? I try to keep calm, try to stem the sickening dread that is rising through my stomach and up to my throat.

‘Oh yes,’ I say, laughing awkwardly. ‘That’s me. Which number have you got there? I’ll just check it’s the right one.’

The girl recites the mobile number and I scribble it on to the cheap notepad, my hand trembling so badly I almost drop the pencil.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘That’s my old one I’m afraid.’

‘Right, well if you give me your new number I’ll pass it on.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t remember,’ I say, trying to catch my breath. ‘It’s a new phone and …’

‘It’s okay,’ says the girl. ‘I can see it on the phone display.’ She reads it out and I make a note of it.

‘Thanks. I’m so sorry, my memory’s very bad at the moment.’

‘It’s no problem, Miss Nielsson,’ she says. ‘I’ll pass the number on to Sharon and she’ll give you a call as soon as she can. Now is there anything else I can help you with today?’

‘No,’ I say, slumping down on to the bed. ‘No thank you. Goodbye.’

I press ‘end call’ then sit for a moment, staring at the biscuit-coloured carpet.

Who the hell is Freya Nielssen?

28

It’s dark outside now. I should close the curtains but I can’t move from the bed. I try to remember the names of Sean’s colleagues or associates. Was there a Freya Nielssen among them? I have no idea. The name means absolutely nothing to me but it meant something to Sean. Enough to name her as a contact for our family home.

I look down at the notepad. The phone number stares back at me like a challenge. All I have to do is phone this number and then I’ll know. But I daren’t.

The truth is, deep in my gut, I already know the answer and that is why I’m so reticent to make the call. All these weeks I’ve been racking my brain, trying to work out why Sean could leave me like this, and not once did I consider the obvious, that he’d been having an affair.