After two hours, the grey spire of Salisbury Cathedral appears in a dip in the hills, so tall and finely wrought it seems to pierce the pale blue sky. She drives slowly through the winding streets of the city, past the grey stone walls of the Cathedral Close and leaning, timbered houses. A few miles further west towards the village of Broad Chalke, she takes a left turn and the country road narrows. She slows, opening her window; birdsong and the bitter scent of hedgerows enter the car. The white iron gate is where he’d described, a mile beyond a village of brick and flint. The house stands at the end of the long drive, tall, symmetrical, rose-bricked. Weeds straggle through the gravel, an old man pushes a mower across the lawn, the last cut of the year probably, the sound flares and fades as he walks towards her then away. A couple of thrushes peck at the grass. The walls are warm under her hand. A hidden England beneath the England she knows; calm falls like sunshine. Inside her feet tap on dusty boards pale with age. The kitchen has a dresser and an ancient ceramic sink, copper pans left behind hang by hooks above the range. There is a stage at one end of the room in front, a ballroom perhaps. The rooms in the attic smell of sun-warmed wood. She holds fabric up to the light, measures for curtains, paces distances and returns to the view; there are sheep on the chalky slopes, beech trees in shadowy stands. The hours tick by, she doesn’t want to leave; she makes a call.

‘Hi, Melly,’ Eve’s voice is brimming with warmth. ‘Why aren’t you here?’

‘I’m at work in Wiltshire, I haven’t left yet. I’m sorry but I’ll miss your supper. Paul’s bringing Izzy.’

‘They’ve arrived already. Charley and Blake are here, with Martin. Join us when you get back if you can, I expect we’ll go on till late. Bye-bye, lovely.’ A kiss down the phone, the tickle of a laugh.

It’s less easy to disguise happiness in a voice than a face. Eve and Martin. She feels sick, poor Grace. They’ll be careful, surely, the children are there, Izzy notices everything. Melissa revisits the rooms, walking around slowly, reluctant to leave. After another hour she locks the door, dropping the key through the letterbox. It lands with a little thud, the house is no longer hers. Rain begins when she reaches the motorway; Paul phones as she’s passing Reading. She hears laughing in the background, music and the noise of Ash wailing.

‘We’re staying over,’ Paul’s voice is slightly slurred. ‘Eric insisted, I couldn’t say no.’

He must be drunk for Eric to have made that suggestion, drunk enough not to be able to walk back home.