Now, Will takes a sip of his tea then sets his cup down on a coaster on the coffee table. “How are you feeling?”

“Still shaky.”

“She didn’t lock you in on purpose, you do know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” I glance away, embarrassed. I heard Sheila and Will talking in hushed voices at the front door before she left. She must have told him what I’d said on the phone about Joan deliberately locking me in so she could hurt me.

“Joan said the door often gets stuck. She was trying to help you.”

“I know, the police said.”

“It’s a good job Sheila rang you when she did.”

“Yeah. Thank God Angharad couldn’t find the food rota, or I’d have been stuck there for God knows how long.”

Will reaches for his tea and takes another sip. “Do you think they’ll prosecute her for animal cruelty?”

“I don’t know. There will be an autopsy on the dog’s body. If she was responsible for its death, the case will go to court. An inspector will seize all the rabbits. Mary at work’s going to be busy.”

“I imagine she will.”

We lapse into silence, the only sound the chirping of birds in the trees outside. It’s autumn, my favourite time of year. I love the nip in the air, warm jumpers and the prospect of red wine and old films in front of a roaring fire.

“Jane.” Will reaches a hand across the back of the sofa and touches me on the shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“What do you mean?” I take another sip of my tea but there’s only a dribble of liquid left in the bottom.

“You’ve seemed … different … recently, and you sent that text earlier, saying we needed to talk.”

“I know.” I place my mug next to his on the table, close but not quite touching.

“Okay.” He twists round so he’s facing me, one knee pulled into his body, one foot on the floor. From the stoical look on his face, I know he’s expecting a “It’s not you, it’s me” conversation.

“Last night,” I say, “when you were putting Chloe to bed, I used your iPad.”

“That’s not illegal!” He laughs nervously.

I take a deep breath. “I saw the article you were reading, about Ekanta Yatra.”

“You were talking about it in your sleep the other night after I cooked us both dinner. You were thrashing about in bed and you kept muttering it – Ekanta Yatra, Ekanta Yatra – under your breath. It’s a weird name but that’s why I recognised it, from the news, years ago. I should have just asked you about it the next morning, but” – he shifts uncomfortably – “you always get a bit defensive when I ask you personal questions. I shouldn’t have Googled it, but I was curious. I thought it might help me understand you.”