As I leave the safety of our little town in The Lake District, close to the border with Scotland, and head south, I feel a familiar dread wash over me. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel, almost clinging on for my life. I want to turn back, to pretend I didn’t hear the news report, to carry on living inside my lies. I don’t work, not really. I was young when Daisy was born and Chris thought it was better if I stayed home and looked after her. I’ve been with Chris my entire adult life; I knew from the moment we met that I would be safe with him. I feel bad again for leaving him with the children, especially when he is at such a crucial point in building his start-up business. Chris is in the process of trying to secure funding to convert a load of freight containers into affordable carbon-neutral houses, at first in the Lakes and then, if the model works, to a wider market.

Leaving late has its advantages and the roads are mostly clear. There is a little rain but it’s not enough to break the humidity and not enough to make me pull over. I hate driving in the rain but it feels appropriate somehow. My thoughts focus on what awaits me in Devon. I realise then that I didn’t eat lunch or dinner today, too consumed with organising the family so I could get away and deal with this.

I pull over at a service station – it’s properly dark now – as I am so hungry I can barely concentrate. I grab a sandwich and take it to the seating area. The rain gets heavier outside and I pull my coat around me. It’s not cold but I feel strange being here by myself. A man sits at my table and smiles at me. There are plenty of empty seats so I don’t understand why he’s chosen that seat, or why he’s looking at me.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Thought you might be lonely sitting here.’

‘Well I’m not.’