Now the man speaks. I want to smash his face into the wall. ‘There was someone on the lake last night. They saw a light from this house, flashing an SOS distress signal.’

Annabelle. She betrayed me. I feel my world start to collapse. There is something very wrong with her. I want to go to her immediately.

But first, these two.

‘I’m afraid that’s ludicrous,’ I say. ‘I’m here alone.’

‘They were quite adamant that they saw the signal,’ he says.

‘I don’t doubt it. But is it possible they were mistaken? I was watching television last night. Perhaps it was the light from that they saw?’

I see from the look that passes between them that it is possible this person was mistaken. Their witness is unreliable.

‘Who saw it?’ I say. ‘If you don’t mind me asking?’

‘It was a teenager. He was out fishing.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I see. A teenage boy. Well, I’m sure he is sincere, but …’ I let my voice tail away. The implication is obvious. This teenager is an idiot.

‘Look,’ I say. ‘You’re welcome to come in and look around. Take your time. I’m working in my office, but you can have the run of the place.’

I can offer this. The door to Annabelle’s room is hidden. It is sunk into the wall, and, unless you know it’s there, it looks like the wallpaper.

They would have to be looking very carefully to find it, and they won’t. I can tell they already feel like they are wasting my – and their – time.

‘That’s OK,’ the woman says. ‘We’ll be on our way.’

‘If you have any further questions, please let me know,’ I say, and then close the door behind them.

I sink to the floor. It has taken all my strength to hold myself together. What has she done? She is trying to escape.

Which means she does not want to be here, and that means – what? What else is she hiding from me?

I need to talk to her, now.

Annabelle

Annabelle waited for the door to open and the police – or anyone – to come in and put this to an end. She kicked and banged the door with her good arm in case anyone was passing by – she thought it was a safe assumption that Guy had somehow concealed the door from the outside.

No one came.

She looked out of the window, hoping to see people patrolling the grounds.

No one. Just the still waters of the lake and the trees standing sentinel over the garden.

And then the door opened.

It was not the police, or Matt, or a concerned neighbour.

It was Guy, and he looked awful.

Whatever had happened, had left him drained of colour, his cheeks sallow. He looked as though he was near to tears.