‘You came to my house with thank-you presents,’ I say, suddenly remembering. ‘You bought me wine and flowers. Why would you have done that if you’d already been told that I was having an affair with your husband and was the prime suspect in his disappearance?’

‘I wanted to look you in the eye and give you a chance to tell me the truth.’

I shake my head, struggling to believe a word she says.

‘But you did better than that,’ she goes on. ‘You led me here, so I could see for myself.’

‘So you followed me?’

‘Well, how else would I have known where he was?’

‘Because you brought me here,’ yells Michael.

‘We’re going to the police,’ I say, raising the hammer to my chest in an attempt to ward either of them off trying anything. ‘Then we’ll find out which one of you is the liar.’

I can just make out the opening bars of the Adagio as the soft strings drift on the breeze, and I turn towards the copse that leads to the concert site. It’s just a split-second lapse in awareness, but in that moment there’s a sudden whoosh of air and an animalistic roar; a feral battle cry that reverberates around my core, shaking my very foundations. I don’t even have time to lift the hammer before a looming mass of limbs reaches out towards me.

Michael’s weight falls onto me, his arms going around my neck, locking on my throat as he pushes me forwards. I try to stay upright, but he’s dragging me down and I stumble.

All I can see, as I desperately try to right myself, is the deep green algae-topped water of the swimming pool in front of me. I know that if I go in there, I’ll never come back out again.

I try to turn, thrashing out with my hands, aiming for whatever part of him I can hit, but he pins my arms down by my side, giving me no way to protect myself as the ground comes up to meet me.

My head jolts backwards as my chin makes impact and I groan as the air in my diaphragm is forced out of me. I can’t help but wonder if I’m already dead as everything around me seems to have stopped, the silence deafening.

There were never going to be any winners in this, but the shock that Michael is not the man I thought he was assaults me. That I’d allowed his alter-ego, Jacob, to manipulate and play with my good intentions and malleable heart – right to the very end. How had I not seen the chink in his armour? That tiny tell-tale sign that he was the abuser and not the abused.

‘Please,’ I whisper, just to test if I’m still alive. ‘Just think about what you’re doing. Think of your boys.’