Now I’m at this point, knowing I’m about to speak to him, no matter what, I find myself not knowing what to say. I’m not angry about the other night; neither am I going to stand in judgement if he’s decided that he’s happier when he’s with his wife. I only ever wanted to make him see that he had options.

As the phone is picked up and he says, ‘Hello, Jacob Mackenzie speaking, how may I help you?’ I realize I just want to know that he’s all right.

‘I’m so sorry to call you at work,’ I say, exhaling the breath I feel like I’ve been holding in for forty-eight hours. ‘But I just wanted to check that you’re OK.’

‘I’m perfectly fine,’ he says, clearly bemused. ‘Can I ask who’s calling?’

‘It’s me, Naomi,’ I say, unable to understand why he doesn’t recognize my voice. But then I suppose I don’t really recognize his either. It actually doesn’t sound like him at all.

‘Naomi?’ he presses, as if needing something more to identify me.

‘From Tattenhall,’ I say, not wanting to divulge any sensitive information, because an unease is beginning to work its way across my chest.

‘Ah, the estate in Whitstable,’ he gushes. ‘Is this about the concert on Saturday? I do hope there’s not a problem, as my wife and I are very much looking forward to it.’

‘Er no, no,’ I stutter, sure that this isn’t the man I think it is. ‘Everything’s fine, though I think I have the wrong number.’

‘Oh,’ he says, before laughing. ‘I thought you were going to tell me that the lead violinist had fallen ill and you needed me to stand in for them.’

I force a laugh. Now I’m really listening to his voice, there’s no way this is the Jacob I know. The Jacob I need to find.

‘I hope you enjoy the event,’ I say, before putting the phone down.

I fall into the chair with my head in my hands, struggling to understand how I thought I knew Jacob so well just a couple of days ago.

Despite myself, I can’t help but feel I’ve been duped in some way, but I can’t for the life of me work out how or why. Had it all been about the apartment? An elaborate ruse to get in there, knowing I’d have the devil’s own job of getting him out again? Had he invented his abusive wife? Created an entirely different life from the one he was actually living?