She clears her desk in the studio, rapidly shredding old papers, conscious that she is shredding her old life, beginning anew. Her hands tremble with anticipation; all the time she is aware of Paul in the house beneath her. He bellows once for Lina and then she hears him swearing, tugging open the fridge. Soon it’s quiet, he must have left. She begins to slot scale plans and designs into her large portfolio case and doesn’t hear him enter the room. She jolts when his fingers slide round her arm.

‘Take your hand off my arm, please,’ she says as calmly as she can, turning round.

At the sight of her face, Paul flinches and steps back.

‘You shut the car door on me last night, it caught my face. Then you hit me, remember?’

He frowns and looks away. Whether he remembers or not, she’s breaking a rule. He’s not used to her telling him what he’s done. ‘Where is she?’

She meets his eyes, playing for time. ‘Still no news. Eric is making a televised appeal today.’

‘I meant Lina. I need my new golf trousers; she was letting them out. Mike’s collecting me for a round at the club.’

‘I gave her the day off – wear something else.’ Her heart is beating fast; normally she would never dare talk to him like that. She is feeling brave and terrified at the same time and continues to place sheets of drawings in her portfolio one by one, apparently unhurried.

‘What are you doing?’ he asks.

‘Getting samples ready for a client to collect.’

‘Dressed like that?’

His antennae are out; her mind races to stay a step ahead. ‘Of course not. I’ll change after gym.’

‘What about your face?’ He sounds worried, but not for her; he’s never marked her so badly, and is scared of the consequences.

‘I’ve got excellent make-up, Paul. I’ve used it before.’ She glances at the window. ‘Shouldn’t you be leaving? It’ll be dark in an hour.’

‘The club’s floodlit,’ he says, but he leaves the room and runs downstairs. She hears him rattling in the drawer in his study.

‘Where are my keys?’ he shouts.

As his feet thud upstairs again, she reaches for the keys where she left them on the chair and slides them into the back pocket of her jeans, just before he bursts back into the studio.

‘Where are my sodding car keys, Melly?’

‘How should I know?’ She stands perfectly still, back against her desk, the keys wedged in her pocket. ‘I thought Mike was collecting you.’

‘My golf clubs are in the car.’

‘Your old ones are in the cupboard; you could take them instead. What time will you be back?’