‘Oh, Joe,’ I say as I stand up. ‘Why can’t you be a bit more careful?’

Joe scowls at me and I realize that is exactly what Mark would have said. Mark with his order and neatness and insistence that everything be in its correct place. Sod it, I think to myself. It’s a bit of jam which, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t the end of the world.

‘Never mind, baby,’ I say, stroking his soft face. ‘Let’s go and see the nice lady, shall we?’

He flinches at my touch and gives me a look that is so reminiscent of Mark it chills me. How can he have brainwashed my son so much? How twisted can one man be?

When we reach the door I run my fingers through my hair then ring the bell. The noise of it fills the air. It’s an old-fashioned sound that reverberates like church bells. After a few moments I hear the key turning in the lock. When the door opens I gasp.

It’s not Isobel standing there but a bent old man with bluish paper-thin skin. He’s dressed all in black except for a white scarf wrapped round his neck. As I look closer I realize that I’ve seen him somewhere before. It’s the vicar. I saw him standing outside the church when we drove into the village that first day.

‘Yes?’ he says suspiciously, probably in disgust at my messy appearance. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Erm, I was –’ I say, my voice catching. The vicar is making me feel like Mark used to do, like an incompetent child. ‘I was hoping to speak to Isobel if she’s here.’

He looks stricken suddenly, the colour draining from his face.

‘What do you want with Isobel?’ he says, half closing the door.

‘Oh, it’s nothing serious,’ I say, trying to calm him down. His agitated behaviour makes me think he might have some sort of dementia. ‘My phone’s gone dead and I’ve got no way of charging it in the place I’m staying so I wondered if I could charge it here.’

I hold my dead phone up and he looks at it with wide eyes as though it’s an unexploded bomb.

‘Isobel can’t help you,’ he says briskly. ‘She’s not here.’

‘Do you know when she’ll be –?’ I begin, flinching as Joe kicks me in the back of my calf.

‘Don’t want to see lady,’ he says, his voice hardening as it always does when he’s about to have a tantrum.

‘Shh, Joe,’ I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him to my side.

‘Sorry about that,’ I say to the vicar whose face is now shadowed by the half-closed door. ‘He can be a little monkey sometimes. I was just going to ask if you knew when she’d be back. Isobel.’

‘No,’ he says, his eyes bulging. ‘No, I do not. She’s not here and that’s an end to it.’

He slams the door in my face and I stand for a moment trying to work out what just happened.