Wouldn’t it be so simple if I could just run away? If I could forget I had a family, if I could stop my heart loving my children. I could get away from this madness; from the disintegration of a relationship that had once been everything to me. From the dread every time my phone rang, or a message landed, or there was a knock on the door. More bad news. More horrific revelations.

Things would never be normal again. This wasn’t a short period of upheaval and upset after which we’d all slip back into our old routines. This was raw and pain-filled, and there was no escape for any of us.

Crying into my glass of wine, I thought about the Taylors. About Ronan and Jenny and how their marriage was struggling to cope with this unthinkable tragedy. I thought about Julie and how she seemed to be disappearing bit by bit in front of my eyes. I thought of Paul – of the Paul I once knew – of whom I’d been so very certain. It had been a long time since we’d laughed together, I realised.

I couldn’t pin all the blame on him. I was no innocent party. I’d allowed myself to start falling for another man. I’d allowed myself to sleep with another man. And I’d enjoyed every touch, every sensation, as I’d felt desired and wanted for the first time in years. Lying on the edge of Molly’s bed that Sunday morning, feeling her soft breath on my face, her mass of blonde curls tickling my cheek, I wondered what on earth would become of us all.

It felt as though Paul was watching me like a hawk all through that morning. No matter where I went, I felt his eyes on me. As I loaded the dishwasher and sorted through piles of washing, he took a seat at the kitchen island, poured himself a cup of coffee and continued his vigil.

He wasn’t reading the paper or even going through his phone, he was just sitting there, watching me as I separated the dark-coloured clothes from the lights. My head was still thumping. My stomach wasn’t feeling the best, either. I didn’t have the energy to engage him in conversation, so I just continued about my work.

‘What do you want me to do this week?’ he eventually asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You said last night you wanted me to take the girls to Belfast. I said that wasn’t a good idea for a hundred different reasons, but we never actually decided what would happen. Did you speak to that policeman again? Get his advice?’

‘On what? We know what we know, Paul. My friend has been murdered. Julie and I have received cryptic notes. Some people might find that threatening. I was just thinking of the girls. Thinking how to protect them.’