I unbuckled his jeans, revelled at his sharp intake of breath as I took him in my hand, and then revelled in my own pleasure as he took control, pushed my hands above my head and entered me.

For those minutes, nothing else mattered. There was silence amid the chaos and calm instead of fear. It was the perfect lie.

Chapter Forty-Two

Rachel

‘Have you thought about what I said?’ Michael asked afterwards. ‘Because I was serious, you know. Even though I know it’s complicated. Come away with me. We can start again elsewhere and no one needs to know it’s us.’

‘That’s a lovely fantasy,’ I told him.

We were still wrapped together, our bodies sticky with sweat.

‘It doesn’t just have to be a fantasy, Rachel. I know it sounds all romantic and corny, but let me take you away from all this. To somewhere safe. I’ve got some savings. I can keep us afloat until I find more work. That’s the thing with being a carpenter, I have skills and I can travel with them. You can work anywhere. Teach. English or creative writing, or take that time out – you always wanted to write a book. But most of all, just be away from this, from Paul and from this psychopath.’

As pretty as that picture was, it wasn’t realistic. Real life was different. What kind of mother would I be to leave my children in the midst of such trauma? How selfish would I be just to walk away? Didn’t what Paul and I had – what we’d shared for seventeen years now – didn’t that deserve another chance at least?

And what if the killer didn’t stop just because I was gone – if he turned his attention solely to Julie, or to my girls?

‘I have children,’ I said. ‘You know that. I can’t walk out on them. Especially not now, when they’re both so scared. Beth’s at a vulnerable age. Molly’s just a baby still. I can’t walk out. I’ve thought about it and little else over the last twenty-four hours, Michael, and I can’t reconcile with that. No matter what I feel.’

I stroked his face as I spoke, hoped he could see that losing him was far from easy for me, either. Tears welled in my eyes.

He looked at me for a moment, his expression that of someone truly dejected.

‘But just now? What was that? If you didn’t want to be with me …’ He pulled back as I pushed myself to sitting.

I blushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I just lost the run of myself when I saw you. It’s not that I don’t have feelings for you. I do. You know I do. But it’s more complicated than that.’