“It means Jon cares more about trying to save his professional reputation than saving his family,” Ruth says, matter-of-fact and keeping her eyes on Dr. Bunce, a child telling a teacher about another’s naughty behavior. I’m shaking my head before she’s even stopped talking.

“That’s bullshit, complete bullshit.”

“OK, can you tell us what it means for you, Jon?” Dr. Bunce’s steady gaze settles on me like a blanket.

“It means I’ve got shit time-keeping skills.”

After the last couple of sessions, Ruth invited me back to New Barn Cottage, the home we converted just outside Ashford. We picked Jakey up, had a family meal together, then, after I put Jakey to bed, Ruth and I stayed up, drinking wine. Last week we kissed and it felt like the first time, only better; the love came back in a flood. But today the tendons in Ruth’s throat are still twitching as we leave Dr. Bunce’s in silence. Once in her car, she snaps her seat belt around her and I have to tap on her window before she winds it down, and it’s only then I see she’s crying again.

“Oh God, Ruth, look, I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do. I should have come here straightaway, but don’t make it into something bigger than it is. We were doing so well.”

Her eyes dim as the tears pool, and she says, “I was starting to think these sessions were about more than just Jakey. I was starting to think they could help save our marriage. But if you’re late and don’t take them seriously then I don’t think we’ve got anything left to talk about.”

I watch as Ruth drives away. She’s right, of course, she usually is. I need to stay away from Summervale and the whole case. Now is a time to focus on rebuilding my family and my career. It’s not a time to be digging around for an angle about a murder and kidnapping; there’ll be plenty of reporters doing that already. Though those other reporters won’t have met all three of the people involved . . .

All three of them.

Did I just think that? Assumptions are so contagious and so slippery. It’s so easy to assume Simon is involved in all this. I sit in my car and snap the band on my wrist to try to stop thinking about Meg, Grace, and Simon when I should be thinking about Ruth and Jakey. My bones feel heavy as I turn the key in the ignition, but I don’t start to drive, not yet. I don’t want to go back to the flat I refuse to think of as home, but I have nowhere else to go. I still need to write the article about the summer fair; it’s due tomorrow. If I focus, I’ll get it done in a couple of hours. Then what? I wish I had a friend, someone I could meet for a pint and a chat, but I left all my real friends behind in London. I scroll through my phone, try to find a name, someone I can call who lives near Ashford who isn’t better friends with Ruth than me. Becks and Clare went to school with her, so they’re both a no, and Laurence, who lives round the corner from my flat, was her first boyfriend, so he’s a definite no. Besides, since the article and the tsunami of vitriol against me, I know none of them would relish being seen with me in public. Which just leaves Dave.