‘Do you think Faye chose to disappear?’ Jameson asked.

‘I did, yes. That’s why I didn’t push it with the police. I reported her missing after the first week, but I expected she’d turn up when she was ready.’ Harry rubbed his right eye. ‘She’s not been happy for a long time. I tried to help her with the children and talk to her about things, but …’ He stopped, dropped his hand to his side and looked at them both. ‘I don’t think she liked being a mother. She loved the kids, don’t get me wrong, but that day-in, day-out routine and the responsibility, it made her … oh, I don’t know.’

‘Frustrated?’ said Jameson.

‘More than that. It made her …’ He looked up at the ceiling. ‘I’m just going to say it. It made her vile. Not a nice person to be around. She was always angry and short-tempered, everyone and everything annoyed her – particularly me, it seemed. She was always saying that her life would be so much better without me in it and … well … I must sound like the worst husband. I know my children are missing their mum, but I think this space is good for all of us.’

‘So, having children changed Faye?’ asked Bloom.

Harry nodded. ‘Before Fred, Faye loved travelling and trying new things, not what you’d expect from an accountant. She was incredibly good fun, everyone always wanted her at a party.’ He smiled, trying to make light of his low self-esteem. ‘She was totally different before. And the awful thing is I’m not even sure she wanted a family. I know I did, but I can’t remember now if she wanted that too …’

‘You think she had children to make you happy?’ asked Jameson. Bloom was always impressed that he could ask such direct and personal questions without sounding rude or intrusive. It was something about his tone.

Harry paused. ‘I really hope not. I hope that’s not on me.’ A deep frown creased his forehead.

‘You still think she disappeared of her own accord?’ asked Bloom.

‘It’s getting on for three months now. That’s a long time, isn’t it? To not see your children or check how they are?’

Faye Graham’s fury burned in her veins. This new player – some jackass called SRB – had only entered The Game three weeks ago but he was already at level two. It had taken Faye nearly two months to reach the second level, and from the stats that were posted each week, she knew that she’d been the fastest riser until this shitty little upstart had come along to steal her crown.

She had taken her eye off the ball. In January, she’d been focused and obsessive. She had checked the website constantly, analysing the stats and the posts from other players, detailing their various achievements.