As Jasmine pushed the key in the lock, nausea crept over her, as though she were crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. Every part of her knew he wouldn’t be amenable if he found her inside his house; the way he had reacted when he caught her at the threshold before had shown how he felt about her being inside there. Still, she pushed forward. There was no more time; she had to get to the truth.

Moving slowly and carefully through the property, Jasmine noticed how untouched everything was. The first room she came across was a small lounge with the sofa from their last house in it, and a wave of nostalgia hit her. But there was no television – in fact, aside from the items her parents had decorated the room with, there was no furniture at all.

Jasmine walked through to the bathroom. A bar of soap, toothbrush and toothpaste sat on the sink. In the cupboard was a tin of something called pomade; she didn’t know what that was.

In the double bedroom there was just enough room for a metal-framed IKEA double bed, and the back wall was fitted with slatted louvre doors to hide the clothes rail and shelving. There was nothing in Tim’s bedroom. The bed was bare, with no sheets. Instead, there was a sleeping bag in its sleeve on the chair and a pair of binoculars on the sill. Had he ever even lain on the bed before or did he just sit in that chair, watching the house from the window? All those accidental meetings in the garden were no accident at all.