I want to tell her that I know someone was in the house last night, but until I’m sure it wasn’t my own husband playing some kind of fucked-up mind game with me, I’ll play my cards close to my chest. This said, my record thus far of not being honest with the police has not been working out so well.

Robson looks at me, her interest piqued, though I’m sure I can detect a whiff of scepticism. ‘Did you report it?’ she asks, knowing full well I didn’t.

‘Well, like I say, I couldn’t be sure. I was sure of it at the time, but you know how things can spook you.’

‘So, are you saying you think someone put this there?’ she asks incredulously.

‘Well, I know I didn’t, so it’s the only possible explanation,’ I say. ‘Although you seem convinced otherwise, I’m not the type of person to have illicit liaisons with my clients and pay-as-you-go phones hidden in my home.’

‘How do you know it’s a pay-as-you-go?’ she asks.

I sigh. ‘I don’t, it’s just a figure of speech.’

‘And the illicit liaison?’ she asks.

I feel like I’m a sitting duck waiting to be put out of its misery. ‘I’m just saying that despite what you might think, I’m not in the habit of meeting my clients outside work.’

‘Not even in the Royal Garden hotel?’ she asks, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

‘No,’ I say adamantly.

‘Well, let’s hope the CCTV backs that up.’

22

Although the police left the house looking largely as they found it, I still feel violated, as if they’ve sullied everything they’ve touched. It’s felt most staunchly in the spare bedroom, and fresh tears spring to my eyes as I trail my hands along the sleeves of my mother’s dresses. I imagine them rifling through her belongings in their misguided efforts to find something that proves that I’m the person they think I am.

The cuffs of her blouses lost the scent of her favourite perfume many years ago, but when I really need to, I can convince myself I can still smell it. It immediately transports me back to happier times and I watch the four of us, as if through the shuttering lens of an old cine camera, being a normal family.

I can see us at the movies, where my father and Jen would sit behind me and Mom, throwing their popcorn over our heads to try and get it in our bucket. We’d be in hysterics until the usher came over to tell us we were ruining the cinematic experience for everyone else.

‘Sorry, miss,’ my father would say in a little boy’s voice, sending us all into gales of laughter again.