‘Nell? Nell, sweetheart?’ Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding a cup of tea. He was fully dressed, showered, shaved; he looked solemn.

‘What’s this?’ She sat up, pushing back the covers, reaching for her phone to check the time, but of course it was downstairs somewhere, broken. ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’

‘I’ve got it all worked out,’ Chris said, ‘I’ll be gone two days, three at the most.’

*

The laptop was on the dining table. Before she sat down, Nell opened the kitchen window as far as she could. The day was just starting to brighten; she hadn’t overslept, Chris had simply been up and about very, very early. The air was still, she could smell fresh green outdoor scents, but as she turned back to the kitchen it was still there, underneath, something damp, some-thing rotten. She felt sick.

The emails from Sam seemed innocuous enough at first; one ceramicist was going to be delayed in meeting an order because she was having problems with her supplier; another was complaining she hadn’t been paid, which was most unlike Chris – he never let that sort of thing slide. There were other bills yet to be dealt with, attached to the emails that seemed to have been arriving on an hourly basis ever since they’d left home.

They had agreed that while they were away Sam would run things by herself, but as far as Nell could see she and Chris had been in almost continuous contact since they’d set out on the drive north. That was something they’d need to discuss another time.

The most recent email was headed Barn Project and as she clicked on it, Nell thought she could hear Maude moving around upstairs. She paused for a moment, listening. Nothing.

They had always intended to redevelop the building that housed their gallery; as the business had taken off their exhibition space had grown too small, too cramped, and they had in recent months been inching towards getting permission to adapt an old barn adjacent to their current place. It was, they’d been assured by their architect, just a matter of removing all the modern improvements, and opening up the space, filling it with natural light. It had seemed to be the ideal solution. Over the years, they had fallen into their roles at the gallery with little discussion or friction – Nell was the creative one, while Chris managed the business. And as far as Nell knew, everything had been going to plan.

She opened the email and began to read.

*

Her tea stood untouched on the table. ‘You should have told me.’

Chris sat next to her. ‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘So you thought it best to worry about it all on your own?’

‘Can we talk about this later?’

‘You said Sam could manage.’

‘And she can.’