Tom is nowhere to be found. He’s not in the bedroom, the living area, the hot tub or the kitchen. Kate sweeps through the house, peering into empty guest bedrooms and communal areas, then steps outside. She follows the path up to the car park, fully expecting to see a space where her Volvo was parked, but it’s still there. Where the hell is her husband? In less than two hours the first of the guests is going to arrive and she needs everything to be in place. It largely is. There’s food in the fridge and the cupboards, easily enough for five days, and there are towels and welcome letters on each of the beds and toiletries in the en suite bathrooms. Everything that was on her list has been ticked off. She’s even texted each of the guests (on Tom’s behalf) saying how much he’s looking forward to meeting them and reassuring them that it’s okay to be nervous. But where’s her bloody husband? He’s the key to the retreat’s success and he’s gone AWOL with two hours to spare.

‘Tom!’ Kate heads back down the path at a trot, scanning the surroundings for any sign of life. Nothing. No Tom. She fishes her phone out of her pocket, taps a few icons, then presses it to her ear. Voicemail. What the hell is going on? Her mind swings between possibilities as she rounds the house and jogs through the garden – Tom’s gone for a run, he’s hurt himself, he’s hitched a lift, he’s … dead. She tries to push the thought away but her body has already reacted. Her pulse has quickened and her throat has tightened. She wouldn’t be so worried if Tom wasn’t so obsessed with the last retreat. The press may have moved on, but he still insists on searching Google daily, scouring each page for any mention of his name. He’s punishing himself, using the internet to self-flagellate, and there’s nothing she can do or say to stop him. It’s why this retreat is so important. The guests aren’t the only ones who have to learn how to heal.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake!’ She spots three dark shapes at the far end of the field – two horses and a man, a thin chain link fence separating them from each other.

‘Tom!’ Kate cups her hands to her mouth but the house isn’t called ‘The Wind’s Song’ for nothing and her voice is whisked away.