There is a rainbow above their house and the daylight has muted to a pink hue as though she is entering a dream. The side gate to the back garden is wide open. She remembers bolting it. For God’s sake, has Adam been again? How is it he seems to know when she’s going to be out? She gets out of the car, wades through the long grass and hesitates. A fist of cold presses her chest. It is too quiet. There is no sound of Poppy scrabbling at the back door. She takes a deep breath and strides into the garden, but her foot catches on something and she falls. One hand scuffs along the gravel, the other springs to her bump. A line of scarlet beads bursts out of the ripped skin, edged with tiny stones and mud. Her left hip throbs. She presses the blood on her palm and caresses her hardening bump. Tears sting her eyes. She wills her baby to move. As she shifts to stand up, a silver thread running along the bottom of the gateway from post to post catches her eye. She reaches out, expecting to touch a cobweb, although it’s thicker than that and couldn’t possibly have stayed intact. Her fingers wrap around a solid thread of steel. She sits back on her heels. The wire has been bolted to the posts two or three inches from the ground. A shiver runs the length of her body. Why would he do this? Does he want her to lose the baby? A pain draws around her middle like a lasso, almost unbalancing her. After it’s passed, she carefully pushes herself up. Does this mean the baby’s okay? She’s had a few Braxton Hicks contractions today, but this is the strongest by far.

The pink light has faded to beige and erased the rainbow. She did not leave the back door wide open. ‘Poppy, Poppy!’ she calls, but there is no rumble of the dog scampering to greet her. She takes in a sharp breath and calls again. The kitchen is empty. There is water in the dog bowl; it’s been washed and brought in. What is going on here? She rushes out to the car and wakes Jamie. His lashes flicker, eyes open.

‘Come on, Jamie, please – I can’t find Poppy.’

He manoeuvres himself out of the car. ‘What do you mean?’ he groans, eyes red like he’s about to cry.

‘I don’t know where he is. You didn’t leave the gate open, did you?’

He shakes his head.

‘But wasn’t it you who put the bins out?’ She hates her accusing tone, but why has Adam done this? Why is he torturing her? She wants to scream at him and chuck all his stuff out of the bedroom window. Kick him out. Who does he think he is treating her like this?