‘Okay.’ A silence fell. I watched Rohan’s eyes roam the kitchen. Now I looked properly, I saw that things had become really bad. Why hadn’t Grace said anything? She must think I’m such a slob. I resolved to get everything shipshape by the time she came back. Rohan broke the silence.

‘Do we have any plans this weekend?’

I shrugged. It hadn’t occurred to me to make any plans. ‘What about your mum? She must surely have lined something up for your grand homecoming?’

Rohan coughed. ‘Well, actually, she did mention a lunch tomorrow. You know what she’s like. She said “kebabs and biriyani”. Are you up for it?’

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d have to be up for it. When Meena summoned, there was no choice.

‘Sure,’ I said flatly.

‘Don’t you want to come? I thought it would be nice for us all to get together.’ There was an edge to Rohan’s voice; an unspoken sentence: since you missed the last dinner.

I sighed. ‘It’s just that I’m on a roll painting and I don’t really want to stop. And you know how those lunches go on. You know, all that family gossip and in-jokes and me sitting there pretending I know what you’re talking about.’ I paused. ‘It’s a good chance for you to tell them all about New York.’

‘Don’t you want to hear about New York?’

I felt as if Rohan and I were an engine misfiring, the two of us trying but failing to connect. Was it my fault? I was out of practice socially; lost in my head; knocked for six to have found him in the hallway.

‘We can go out on our own tonight if you like,’ he suggested. ‘Date night?’

I laughed, but then I saw his face. ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Good idea.’

Transcript of interview with Mr Rohan Allerton, husband of Abigail Allerton: 20 December 2019

‘So, you said earlier that you first started noticing changes around the time the topic of your secondment to New York came up.’

‘Yes. Well, in the weeks leading up to my departure.’

‘And we’ve established that you felt there were adequate people around to help Abigail if she needed it, so you went off to New York without worrying. And then you came home after four weeks away. How was she then? Did you notice any changes in her?’

‘Yes. The first thing I noticed was how much thinner and more tired she looked. She’d lost a lot of weight off her face, and her skin looked grey. She looked… gaunt.’

‘Unwell?’

‘I guess. But she’d been painting, and I get that she forgets about eating and sleeping when she’s painting. She doesn’t really go outdoors or anything. I guess I’d forgotten how pale she can be.’

‘So, you weren’t overly worried?’