With most people his departure could be construed as a rather abrupt ending to a conversation, but with Nico it’s easy to see that he’s constantly juggling things in his head. Having ticked off one item on his mental list, he’s on to the next. Right now, it’s all about finding out what’s wrong with the van and checking that the produce was safely delivered.

Curiosity makes me head straight towards the art studio in the corner. Raising the latch, the door opens into an enormous space, but this one doesn’t have a vaulted ceiling like the day room and kitchen unit. There’s a small staircase off to the right, heading up to a mezzanine. As I walk up the stairs, the sound of my footsteps grate on the silence.

At the top is an informal arrangement of chairs and easels arranged in a semicircle around a small table. It’s draped with a dark blue silk cloth, not spread out flat as one would expect, but rumpled as if it’s been thrown down. The irregular folds mimic the effect of rippling water. Standing slightly off-centre is a bowl of lime-green apples and soft yellow pears, no doubt from the orchard. One of the pears still has a portion of branch with several leaves attached to it. Nico has placed it so that it spills out over the white ceramic bowl. His eye for detail in all things is evident everywhere you look. I wonder, though, if that sort of intensity is also a source of compulsion.

Compulsion. A word that, now it’s in my head, unsettles me for some reason. What is it I can feel here? Is it paranoia because my life has been turned upside down and everything around me is a totally new experience? This… year of discovery, as Aiden phrased it, seems to me like opening a door on a whole new world. I don’t want to turn the handle because I’ve always felt complete. Satisfied. Is that so wrong? We can’t all be adventurers and it’s not that I’ve settled, unless being happy with what you have is now regarded as no longer enough. As if, in some way, it’s a failing.

‘The world is going crazy!’ I cry out aloud, my voice echoing around the empty building.

It’s the general air of must have, must do, must be something more that could end up tearing my husband away from me for good.

I yank the phone out of my pocket. Still no new messages, so I begin typing.

Today’s update: I’m standing in an artist’s studio and I can’t wait to sit down with a brush or pencil in my hand and a blank piece of paper in front of me. The journey has begun.