I turn off the water and take a towel from the rail. As I dry myself I catch sight of my face in the small round mirror above the sink. My long hair is straggly and dry, the red now threaded with grey. My eyes are swollen from crying; my lips are dry and cracked. I have become an old woman in the space of a few weeks. And then I think of Freya Nielssen. I imagine a perfect blonde with flawless skin and a young lithe body. A woman unencumbered by mental illness, a happy extrovert who likely sidled up to Sean after their meeting and suggested they go for a drink. Or was it the other way round? Did he initiate it? I think back to the day we met, his insistence we go for a drink. Did he do the same with Freya? And then to torture myself I think about them together. Her perfect naked body draped across his, my husband doing things to her that he did to me, things that were unique to us. I imagine him cupping her face in his hands, telling her he loves her.

Stop it, I will myself, nausea creeping up my throat. Just stop it. I come out of the bathroom and put on yesterday’s clothes. I’m in a daze. It’s like my brain has finally said ‘no more’ and is shutting down.

Then there is a knock at the door and I hear Sonia’s voice.

‘It’s just me, Maggie. Are you decent?’

I walk towards her voice, trying to compose myself.

‘Hiya,’ she says, smiling broadly as I open the door. ‘How are – oh, what’s the matter?’

It’s the sight of Sonia, so warm and reassuring, that makes me crumple. And once I start crying I can’t stop. I stagger to the window and slump down on the wicker chair.

‘Maggie, what is it?’ she says, closing the door and coming over to me. ‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s Sean …’ I say, my chest heaving with sobs. ‘He was having an affair.’

‘What? How do you know?’

‘I called the estate agency that dealt with the rental of Larkfields and on their records they had Sean listed alongside his partner, a woman called Freya Nielssen.’

Sonia’s eyes widen and she shakes her head.

‘I suppose it could be a business partner,’ she says optimistically.

‘It was quite clear what kind of partner it meant,’ I say, rubbing my forehead with the palm of my hand. ‘I think it’s someone he met at work.’

And then I tell her about the disastrous Whitstable holiday and Sean’s urgent trip to Stockholm; his disappearance on Christmas Eve and his strange behaviour in the months that followed.

‘Oh, Maggie,’ says Sonia, squeezing my hand. ‘I don’t know what to –’

A knock at the door interrupts her sentence. I sit up on the chair, rigid.