His hand tightens around the stem of the rose, the thorns piercing his skin. There are three petals left. He knows what way this would have fallen for her. But she broke the rules. She has brought this on herself. He has no choice.

Getting up, he walks across the room to the small wooden box on his bookshelves. He takes out a tablet, breaks it in half and pours the powder into the remains of her glass of expensive wine. He stirs it around with his finger as he hears the bathroom door open and her footsteps on the stairs, then he plasters a smile on his face.

Chapter One

Marian

Monday, November 1

Missing four days

Nell didn’t come home after work on Thursday. That was four days ago. Four days. And this is the first time I’ve heard about it.

I’m unpacking the shopping, swearing over a busted yoghurt carton, when my phone rings and my eldest daughter’s housemate – a terminally timid nurse called Clodagh – asks me if I know where Nell might be.

I look at the clock. It’s 7.15 p.m. Nell normally finishes work at 7. Sometimes she works later. Whatever, it’s a strange time for Clodagh to be expressing concern for her whereabouts.

It’s strange for Clodagh to be calling me at all. I’m not known for my helicopter parenting and Nell has been fiercely independent since she first moved out four years ago. It’s not unusual for us to go a week or more without speaking. It’s just how it is.

‘I imagine she’s working late, or just called into Tesco,’ I say, grabbing some kitchen paper and mopping up a dollop of M&S Greek yoghurt before it congeals on my worktop or Harry Styles – the very fluffy tortoiseshell cat Nell named after her teenage crush – arrives to lap it up.

I’m annoyed that I’ll have to rethink tomorrow’s breakfast. I have all those fresh berries waiting to be eaten …

I become aware of Clodagh replying, stumbling over her words. There’s something in the pitch of her voice that catches my attention. I blink, as if the act of that alone will bring her words into focus.

Did she say Nell hadn’t gone to work? I shoo Harry Styles away, put the kitchen paper down and turn my back to the worktop. Looking at the clock on the wall, I see that it’s now 7.17.

‘Is she sick?’ I ask. The last time I’d spoken to Nell, she’d told me she was afflicted with that most common of all afflictions: Tired-All-The-Time. I’d told her she really should make an appointment to go and see her doctor. Being permanently exhausted at my age was one thing, but no twenty-two-year-old should feel that way.

She’d laughed. ‘Mum,’ she’d said, ‘I see doctors every day at work. I’m fine. Just tired. It’s winter. We’re incredibly busy and there’s always someone off sick. But I’m okay, honest. Or as okay as any nurse is these days. I need a week in the sun, is all.’