He opened the drawer where they kept the tea and took out a teabag. Next to the Tetley’s was a box of jasmine green tea.

It was what Annabelle drank. They had an ongoing debate about whether it was proper tea or not. She claimed it was; he said it wasn’t. She was right, of course, and in truth he quite liked it, but it had become part of the furniture of their relationship.

Drinking that muck again?

You should try it, Matt.

He had various stock responses:

I did. Thought I’d picked up some warm drain cleaner by accident.

Or:

I have been using it, actually. It’s good for cleaning your feet.

Or:

Someone came over the other day who I really don’t like, so I made them a cup.

She would roll her eyes, and laugh, and he would say, Go on then, I’ll have a cup, and they would sit on the couch and drink jasmine green tea together and enjoy the quiet and be happily in love, married now and forever.

He dropped the teabag and sank to his haunches, a huge sob heaving his chest painfully.

Was that all gone? Was their relationship – the bedrock of his entire adult life – over? Because of an unknown individual with an unknown reason?

It felt that way, and it felt like an unbearable fate. If that was what the world had in store for him, he wanted no part of it. He wanted oblivion.

But that was not an option. Norman and Keith and Molly needed him.

He wasn’t sure he could do it.

The door opened. He wiped his eyes and got to his feet. Norman was looking at him, his eyes swollen and puffy.

‘Daddy,’ he said. ‘I want Mum. Can you get her? Please?’

Annabelle

It was dark outside. She had watched the day pass by, the shadows of the trees growing longer. From the position of the sun she could tell that the house was facing south to the lake, not that the knowledge was much use to her.

She looked out across the water. There were no lights visible, no houses that she could see. Occasionally car headlights moved on the far side of the lake. There must be a road there, although it was very lightly used. The cars were very infrequent.

She tapped the glass again. It was much thicker than ordinary glass; her dad had taken her and Mike to Brittany one summer and it reminded her of the windows on the ferry. They were scratched and salt-caked, but they felt similarly robust and unbreakable.

She thought about the builder who had put the window in. Had they not wondered why Guy wanted a room like this? Or had Guy told them some story? It was hard to think what it could be. Either way, even if the builder had been suspicious, it didn’t help her now.