‘Yes, I saw it … but, God, no, Rachel,’ Paul said, his voice low. ‘It’s not Clare? It can’t be.’

‘Police confirmed it this afternoon,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘It was murder, a knife wound.’

I finally gave in to sobbing as I heard my husband try to soothe me down the line.

‘I’ll be home as soon as traffic allows,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe it, Rachel. This is awful.’

I couldn’t even speak to say goodbye, so I just ended the call and curled up into a ball on my bed, burying my head in my pillow so that my daughters wouldn’t hear my sobs. I didn’t want to alarm them. I wished there was someone here to hold me and soothe me as I cried.

I knew I should have wished for that person to be Paul, and in a way I did. But more than that, I wished it were Michael. I needed him. My body physically ached for the comfort he could give me. Knowing that I wouldn’t see him tonight was hard, when I just wanted him to hold me and tell me everything would be okay in the way only he could.

I tried to slow my breathing, to regain control of my emotions, and I dialled his number, saved in my phone as Michelle. Just in case, I’d thought, long before I realised just what I was getting myself into.

‘Hey, you,’ his voice, smooth, comforting, came down the line. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you later. Can you get away for coffee afterwards?’

At this point normally we may have laughed at the word ‘coffee’, knowing that it was about more than coffee. We’d not slept together. Not yet. But it was, we’d both realised, only a matter of time before we couldn’t hold out any longer. Before I took the final step, which would brand me a cheat forever.

‘I won’t be there tonight,’ I told him. ‘I’ve texted them and asked for a substitute to be sent in.’

‘Does that mean you’ll be pretending to be there and we might just have more time together if I skip class, too?’

I so wanted to say yes. I so wanted to be led astray by him. I wanted to be distracted by him, taken away from the horror that had been unfolding all afternoon.

‘Michael,’ I said, loving even the sound of his name, ‘I wish it were that simple. My friend’s dead.’ I gulped back a sob, closed my eyes and tried not to picture how she may have been found. ‘That poor woman out on the Coney Road. It’s Clare.’

‘Oh, Rachel,’ he soothed. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could do something to be there for you. Is there any chance we could see each other even for five minutes?’