‘I’ll … I’ll …’ Hot tears well in her eyes. She can’t force him to do this. She can’t make him do anything. Battling, arguing, cajoling, threatening – they’ll all just make him fight back harder. She lets go of his arm and wipes the tears from her cheeks.

She hears a sound catch in Tom’s throat. He was going to say something and stopped himself. She’s staring at the wet, muddy ground but she can feel him watching her. The pause becomes loaded, swollen with emotion. Fresh tears spill down her cheeks.

‘Give me one reason,’ Tom says softly, ‘one reason why I should do this that isn’t to do with money or houses or building the business. Give me one reason.’

She takes a shuddering breath and raises her eyes to his. ‘Because Jenna’s dead, Tom. And I’m all you’ve got left.’

Chapter 10

Now

FRAN

Fran’s audiobook ends at the exact moment she catches her first glimpse of Cân-y-gwynt and she can’t help but gasp. She knew the retreat was luxurious – there’s an indoor hot tub for goodness’ sake – but it’s the scenery, rather than the building itself, that wows her. The substantial nine-bedroom house is nestled in the hollow of a Welsh valley, surrounded by rolling hills painted in vivid shades of viridian, fern and violet and the grass is lush and long thanks to days of lashing January rain. She eases the car through narrow country lanes then parks up in a small car park, shielded from the house by tall, neat hedges, then makes her way down a small grassy path, through a white gate and down the gravel driveway to the house. It’s a long low building – in an L shape apart from the porch in the centre – with a slate grey pitched roof. To the right of the porch is a wide window, revealing the hot tub inside. Anyone sitting in it has a lovely view of the lawn and hills beyond but the landscape isn’t the only thing on view. No hot tub for Fran. If she wanted strangers to gawp at her flabby bits she’d have signed up for a naturist retreat, not a self-help one.

As she reaches for the door handle, the door swings open and a tall, well-dressed woman in her late thirties, with shoulder length glossy brown hair, shoots her a beaming smile. It’s Kate. Fran recognises her immediately from the media coverage of Tom’s trial.

‘Hello, hello! Welcome to SoulShrink,’ Kate says brightly. ‘Tom said he thought he saw someone walking down the path.’

Fran imagines Tom Wade standing at one of the upstairs windows, staring out, his gaze fixed on the path; watching, waiting for the next gullible fool to join his cult of the lonely and desperate.

Kate holds out a hand. ‘Lovely to meet you. I’m Kate.’