‘I thought you’d like to know, I’ve been warned off Kattan again by him and his bloody henchman, and I’m sure you’re barking up the right tree,’ I said, pouring more tea, smoothing out the newspaper. Riots in London. Knife-crime statistics. Comment on Senator Obama’s wife, Michelle’s, wardrobe. Tightening of terrorism laws.

‘Yesterday I met his daughter, the enigmatic Maya – at her behest, actually,’ I went on. ‘She’s certainly got an axe to grind with Daddy. Call me when you get in.’

I checked the newspaper from front to back and then rang Xav back.

‘And by the way, why are none of you running the death at the manor story?’

When I went upstairs to get dressed, I took my mobile with me. I was waiting for James to ring, I told myself, that was all.

* * *

My mother rings. They are enjoying having the kids so much can they stay another night. Fears that the visit would set my father’s health back have apparently dissipated.

‘It’s giving him a new lease of life.’ My mother sounds young and carefree for once.

‘Please, Mummy, please, please,’ Alicia pleads, snatching the phone. In the background I can hear Grandpa being a bear.

I laugh. ‘Don’t you miss me?’

‘Gran let us stay up to watch Doctor Who and she’s going to buy me a pink dress tomorrow. And she let us have a whole packet of Rolos and a KitKat –’ a dramatic pause – ‘each.’

Freddie comes on the line. ‘Batman wants to stay at Gran’s,’ he says solemnly. ‘And so does Under-woman.’

Only Effie seems to miss me, with a little sniffle at the end of our conversation.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Eff, OK, sweetie-pie?’ I reassure her. I hang up and blow my nose. My emotions are all on the surface right now, my skin is off. I feel raw and available, like a peeled orange.

For once I have the time to choose what I wear carefully. I do my make-up very slowly. I play loud music in the bedroom and sing and feel like I used to when I was a teenager before a big night out. Before Oxford. The cat blinks at me from the bed as I shimmy around, and then yawns widely and goes back to sleep. I decide to walk to the village shop. On the way I pass a pheasant running out of the hedge; I smile at its silly run, like an old lady bent double. I sing Bob Dylan. I have stepped over the boundary into something new.

Outside the village shop, I see the Range Rover drive towards me. I stop singing. My stomach feels like lots of small things are rolling around inside uncomfortably.

Hadi Kattan opens his car window and looks down on me. His mouth is set and he is wearing expensive Ray-Bans that he doesn’t remove when he speaks.