The connection was instant. But even then they waited before having sex. The first time, they were at her house. Dinner cooked at home – they couldn’t go out, too much risk – dessert finished. He was chivalrous, constantly asking is this okay, can we do this? She was desperate for him; he could have done anything, she wouldn’t have minded, but he was more reserved. Usually in a bed, preferably at hers. Curtains closed, eyes shut. Maybe in the shower. Blow jobs were okay, finger up the arse definitely not. He liked her underwear lacy but classic black or white. Orgasms were quiet, stifled groans in the dark. But she was happy. Always happy.

Freya hasn’t seen the crime scene photos or the video of the BWV from the PC who found him. Maybe if she saw them she would start to believe what has happened, but for now everything seems too surreal.

She gropes for her phone, picking it up in the dark and scrolling to Twitter. She searches for his username then loads his tweets. Jon wasn’t prolific, only posting occasionally. She took some solace from knowing what he was doing when she wasn’t with him, even if it was information shared with the whole of the internet.

One from Friday night – a close-up, Jon’s grinning face next to a dark-skinned guy. She knows this is Kal, his best friend, and reads the text below.

Happy 40th mate!! So happy to celebrate with you. #gettingold #oldman #bestmates

She stares at Jon’s bright blue eyes, willing him to materialise out of the photograph. How can you be gone? she thinks. You were just here. She wonders if anyone has told Kal yet, and knows they’ll need to interview him.

She keeps scrolling, but the remaining photo is dull. A shot of some trees, a path through the woods. Walk with Amy is the only caption, followed by a tree emoji. She stares at it, desperate to know what happened that weekend.

They’d had a plan. Jon was going to talk to Amy, tell her he was leaving, and then call her. She’d imagined him arriving at hers, suitcase in hand, and they’d have spent the rest of the weekend together. Talking, laughing, shagging. So much time to play with. The whole of their lives from that point on, together.

So what happened? What happened?? the voice in her head screams. With frustration she throws her phone to the floor, hearing it thump onto the carpet next to her discarded wine glass and the empty bottle. She pushes her face hard into the pillow as the sadness overwhelms her. She doesn’t try to stop it now; the wine has unlocked something and she howls until her voice is hoarse.