The house was grand, redbrick. He and his wife, Mary, had bought it some fifteen years ago, at a time when Grant’s prominence and earning power had only just started to wane. Back then it had felt like they belonged in the overtly wealthy neighbourhood, but more recently Grant had come to feel like something of an imposter, a feeling certainly not helped by their snooty – and often snoopy – neighbours.

Grant realised, as he drew the key from his pocket, that the weathered oak front door was already ajar. He slowly pushed it fully open then stepped inside.

‘Mary?’ he shouted out. There was no response. ‘Annie?’

No response still, though he’d already assumed his teenage daughter wasn’t in. She rarely was, though there was no doubt she was a good kid compared to their son.

Grant wiped his shoes on the doormat and continued across the wide, wood-floored hallway. Mary would normally scold him if she knew he hadn’t taken his shoes off, but that was of little concern right now. He moved through into the large sun-filled lounge that looked out over their expansive lawned garden. The room was empty and Grant was about to turn back around when he spotted movement outside the windows.

Ethan. He was facing away from the house. A cigarette dangled from one hand. His phone was clasped in the other, held up close to his chin the way youngsters often did, not realising that the whole world didn’t want to hear their discussions broadcast on loud speaker.

Grant balled his fists in anger. How sad it was that the mere sight of his son could do that now. Years of pent up anger and frustration were barely below the surface anymore. The worst of it was, many outsiders would probably say father and son were as bad as each other. Grant was aware of how angry he was already.

Yet he wasn’t the one who routinely stepped well beyond the boundaries of reasonable behaviour. At least not without provocation.

‘Mary!’ Grant shouted out again. There was still no response but Grant now heard a creaking floorboard directly above, in his and Mary’s bedroom.

Grant turned and headed for the staircase. He took the steps two at a time and then bounded along the landing to the master bedroom. The door was closed. He reached out and turned the handle. It was locked. He banged on the door.

‘Mary, it’s me. Open the door.’

He heard nothing for a few seconds.

‘Mary?’