A man opens it, hair wet from the shower, white towel around his hips, his face wanting to twist in irritation but too well-controlled to allow it to. From deep in the house, children are squabbling. There is Maxine’s voice, trying to calm things, though her words are too far away for me to make out what she is saying.

The man looks at my hands, as if expecting a parcel delivery, but sees they are empty. ‘Yes?

‘I need to speak to your wife.’ I am assuming she is his wife. I know I shouldn’t assume anything, but the wedding ring I glimpsed last time, the children, everything about this set-up makes me think that she is.

The man is square-jawed, brown-haired, and clean-shaven. A perfect specimen of perfect dismissive politeness. ‘That won’t be possible.’ A child’s shriek pierces the air. He doesn’t react. He is clearly a man who owns the room chairing board meetings.

‘Wait – Please.’ He is closing the door as I speak. ‘Tell her Jane Miller is here.’ The door clicks shut a second after my last word.

I cross my arms, lean against the black iron railings that border the steps to the front door, and sip the coffee I bought at a cafe on the outskirts of the town. I evaluate the paned windows on the house’s ground floor. The wooden shutters are drawn in the lower half of each of them, so I can’t see in, though the upper halves are open, to let in the light.

Fifteen minutes later, the door opens and the man steps out, flanked by the boy and girl I saw when I spied on Maxine the last time I was here. He must be doing the nursery drop-off on his way to work. He passes me as if I were a ghost. He looks straight ahead, though unhurried and confident, while the children stare over their shoulders.

‘Who is that lady, Daddy?’ the little girl says.

‘A friend of Mummy’s,’ he says.

‘Then why didn’t you let her in?’ the little boy says.

Good question, I think, but if the boy’s father has an answer to this one, by the time he gives it they are too far away for me to hear.

I sit down on the lowest step to wait it out, the cold concrete seeping through my clothes and into my skin. My phone rings, taking me by surprise. No Caller ID. I hesitate, but tap the green circle. ‘Hello?’