It was strangely quiet in the house in the middle of the day, without William’s chatter and questions and car noises. There were times when my son was full-on and bouncing off the walls with energy that sometimes made me crave the stillness of a quiet house, but when those rare times came, it felt unnatural. It didn’t feel much like my home without William in it. Or Mel. The thought of my wife threw a shadow across everything.

I took my phone out and texted her.

Why did you tell police Ben and I got physical on Thurs? Thought we were sticking with story we told Beth?

Me 12.26 p.m.

The reply came back quickly.

Oh god oh god I’m sorry Joe I forgot honestly are you OK?? I’m so sorry my head’s all over the place at the moment, what did they say? Call me? xxx

Mel mob 12.27 p.m.

I put the phone down – I didn’t feel like talking to her at the moment. A minute later it rang, vibrating on the worktop. I rejected the call and switched it to silent.

Ben’s timeline on Facebook showed nothing new since his post on Saturday evening. It was tempting to direct-message him again and ask him what he was playing at, but the answer to that seemed pretty obvious. I checked my email and phone messages as well. Nothing doing there either, beyond the usual junk.

I found an old envelope on the kitchen counter and wrote down four questions.

1.Where is Ben?

2.What does he want?

3.Why did he ask to meet yesterday?

4.What ‘evidence’ did he want to show me?

Next to each question I made notes, writing down possible answers. Arrows looping from one point to the next. Question two was the only one I had a solid answer for: he wanted Mel, that seemed pretty clear. And if he couldn’t have her, he wanted to drive us apart.

That is never going to happen, Ben.

The heat of anger was in my chest, threatening to choke me like bile. Anger at Mel. Blended with betrayal and a dash of humiliation for good measure.

I had to get back on the front foot.

I went upstairs to the master bedroom and opened Mel’s bedside drawer. It was full but neatly ordered: make-up, jewellery boxes, a couple of books, our three passports in a pile, a point-and-shoot camera, a stack of receipts clipped together, a Hermès watch that she wore on nights out. Various medicines and creams arrayed at the back, pill bottles and boxes standing upright. I wasn’t really sure what I was looking for – maybe to feel like I was back in the know, having spent the last five months walking around blind to her affair. What else went on in her secret life? What was going on in her head?