There are ten cars squeezed together in the car park, one of which belongs to her. She casts an eye over it to check nothing is untoward then points the key fob at the Alfa Romeo parked beside it. She presses the button on the key fob in her hand. No match. The Alfa Romeo doesn’t flash its lights. She moves on to the next car, a black Range Rover. She presses the key fob again. Nothing. On to the next car, and the next, and the next. The key fob fails to open any of them. Fran turns the fob over in her hands. Could it belong to the owner of the house? But why leave it behind, and nothing else? Not even the car it opens?

The sensible part of Fran’s brain tells her that she’s being silly and paranoid and that taking things that don’t belong to her is immoral. The other part of her brain shouts louder – the key fob doesn’t match any of the cars, it doesn’t feel right, there’s no car badge on the back, she found it in the therapy room and someone moved it so it was pointed towards the chair she was sitting in.

‘Sod it,’ she says aloud as she lowers her reading glasses from her hair to her nose.

She examines the key fob from every angle, then runs her thumbnail around the indent under the keychain hole. Is it a lid of some sort? She grits her teeth and pushes against it with her nail.

Pop! A piece of plastic leaps into the air and drops to the ground. Fran stoops to pick it up. She examines it – nothing exciting of note – then takes a closer look at the innards of the fob. Inside is a USB port, the same size as a mobile phone charger and, beside that, what looks like a tiny disk drawer with a pin hole in the side. Interesting. She removes one of her stud earrings and presses the metal stalk into the hole. The drawer pops open and reveals an SSD card. Also inset into the plastic is what looks like a lens.

Well, well, well. Someone’s been covertly recording the therapy sessions.

She pushes the drawer back into its slot and clicks the two pieces of the key fob together. She’s got two choices – put it back, or find out what’s on the card?

She snorts softly. That’s not a choice at all.

Caroline pinches the SSD card between her thumb and forefinger and stares at it in wonder. ‘This is … wow. Who do you think’s behind it – Kate or Tom?’

Fran perches on the end of Caroline’s bed. ‘Well, I’m no body language expert but Tom didn’t look the slightest bit bothered when I asked him if the key fob was his.’

‘Kate’s then?’

‘Looks that way.’