‘Are you going to the concert?’ she asks.

I want to say no. I want to tell her that whilst her life has seemingly got infinitely better, mine is imploding around me. But instead I smile and nod.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I say.

26

I lock the door behind her and take my phone and my heavy heart up to ‘Mom’s room’. It’s the only place where I feel I have someone on my side.

As I lie on the bed, I can hear the opening chords of Bach’s Adagio drifting through the open window, as the violin section of the twenty-five-piece orchestra Leon booked flexes its strings for a soundcheck. I wonder if it even occurs to him as he’s putting the final touches to the afternoon’s festivities that it’s the solo from our wedding, sung in the church as we signed the register.

The haunting concerto stops abruptly, much like our marriage, it seems, and the irony almost makes me cry. A few seconds later it starts up again, joined by the low pitch of the cellos.

Why am I being punished? I ask, hoping my mother can hear me. I only ever wanted to do the right thing. Why would anyone see it any other way?

I’m startled by the interruption of my phone ringing and sit bolt upright when I see Ness flashing on the screen.

‘Hello?’ I say, breathlessly.

There’s a muffled scream at the other end of the line.

‘Oh my god, Vanessa, is that you?’ I shout.

‘If you think you’re going to get away with this . . . I’ll . . . if it’s the last thing I do,’ comes the sporadic buffeting of a man’s voice, which sounds a lot like Jacob’s.

There’s a sinister silence. ‘Vanessa!’ I bellow. ‘Can you hear me?’

There’s heavy breathing and a rustling sound, but as I press the phone tightly to my ear, there’s something else. I close the window, shutting out the sporadic melodies of the string section on the other side of the copse. But I can still hear it, coming down the line.

‘Fuck,’ I say aloud, almost dropping the phone. I open the window, listen to the dulcet tones and slam it shut again. The music is playing, as if in stereo; because whoever’s at the other end of the line is listening to the same thing as me.

Vanessa Talbot’s phone is here, on the estate. But with two thousand people expected for the concert, it’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack, especially when I don’t even know who I’m looking for.