She was still in the awful, early stages, when everything was raw and all-consuming, when you got stuck in an endless, grinding loop of hurt and sorrow. And regret. Don’t forget about the regret, he reminded himself. It might seem the most benign item on the list, but Brody knew it was the heavyweight. Regret would knock you to the floor with a single punch if you let it.

Did I lie to her? he wondered as he shifted, trying to get comfortable. Would it have made a difference if he’d had someone to talk to, some faceless person who hadn’t known him, who hadn’t been tainted by the knowledge of what had happened? Logically, it seemed possible, but he doubted it. He doubted it very much.

There was a faint scratching at the door, then it was nosed open by a naughty but rather hopeful terrier. Emboldened by the lack of a reprimand, the animal trotted over to the edge of the bed. A second later, the mattress dipped, and Brody felt the damp touch of a nose on his hand. Lewis collapsed on top of the duvet beside him and let out a long doggy sigh of contentment.

Brody usually kept his phone in his study, but it lay on the dark wood of the old and rickety bedside table. He drifted off to sleep, half-wondering if it would make another sound that night, but when he woke again the next morning, only four calls remained in the log. He shooed Lewis off the bed and dragged himself up.

He caught sight of his distorted reflection in the wardrobe mirror that was cloudy and dappled with age. When had he last had a shave? Last week? The one before? Whenever it was, he looked a state. Maybe he’d do it when he came back from his run. Although he didn’t know why he was thinking of bothering with shaving. There was no one here to impress. Only Lewis, and being a shaggy kind of dog, he’d probably prefer Brody the way he was.

He looked more like his father now he was getting older. There were a few specks of grey at his temple, which was expected, he supposed, given that on his last birthday he’d become officially middle-aged. Forty hadn’t been a shock, though. He’d felt older than that for years now. Much older.

The lanes that criss-crossed this part of the moor were still sleepy with mist when he set out. The nearest village was five miles away, and the nearest town more like thirty, which was exactly why he’d chosen this spot for his home. Most likely, the only living things he’d see on his route were some cows and a few rooks.

He checked his watch as he began to run. The grocery delivery was due at eight, so he’d make sure he was back at least ten minutes before that. He turned and vaulted over a farm gate, which was no problem, thanks to his long legs, and powered up the edge of a muddy field towards the top of a steep hill.