‘It was the children’s summer holidays and we’d rented one of the fisherman’s cottages on the beach,’ he’d mused. ‘The kids just loved being by the sea, and on that particular day we’d taken them out on a boat to see the seals at Horse Sands. Our youngest loved animals and his face was so full of wonderment as he watched them sunbathing on the sand bar.’

Jacob had lost himself for a moment and when he came back, his eyes were shimmering with tears.

‘It was a magical day,’ he’d gone on, pulling himself up. ‘And when we got back to the cottage, the kids were in hysterics as I hosed them down by the back door, trying to get the sand and salt out of every crevice.’

He’d laughed heartily at the memory. ‘Though no matter how much you wash them, you’ll still be finding hidden grains a month later.’

I’d smiled, though was unable to relate to the trials and tribulations of parenthood.

‘Anyway,’ Jacob had said. ‘Once they were all clean, I got a fire going on the beach and the little one snuggled up to me as I read him a story.’

‘It sounds idyllic,’ I’d said.

‘It was,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t imagine being happier. I had everything I could possibly ask for; three beautiful sons, a gorgeous, loving wife who I loved more than anything, and a new job that I’d worked my whole career for.’

‘So what changed?’ I’d asked gently.

‘Everything,’ he’d said, looking out of the window. ‘And we were never the same after that.’

I’d often circle back to what had happened to trigger a sequence of events that had turned his wife into an abusive sociopath and him a shadow of his former self. But I’d been unable to get him to return to that place.

It struck me, just as the sun was coming up, that despite Jacob being so open and honest about his marriage, he had actually been very scant on any identifiable details of who he really was.

So, feeling as if I have no other choice, by eight o’clock I’m in my office armed with the phone numbers of all the secondary schools in Canterbury. There’s nothing to tell them apart, as all I know is that he teaches somewhere in town, so I work my way through the list alphabetically. It’s sod’s law that it’s the last one that proves to be the most fruitful.

‘Can I ask who’s calling?’ says the woman on the other end of the line, when I ask to speak to Jacob Mackenzie. Bingo!

‘Yes, it’s Naomi Chandler,’ I say.