I look at them, at my strong, feisty, determined parents, and a wave of sadness washes over me. They shouldn’t be going through this. They should be enjoying their retirement, conquering the bridge club league and gossiping about who’s having an affair with who and the fact that there are roadworks on the Wells Road again.

I try to read the look in my mum’s eyes, to work out if she’s horrified because she doesn’t agree with what I just said or because she does, but I can’t see beyond the film of tears.

‘Mum. Please don’t—’

I’m interrupted by the sound of the landline ringing in the living room. Dad disappears into the hallway. Seconds later he is back, the phone in his hand.

‘It’s for you,’ he says. ‘It’s Mark.’

Chapter 42

‘What’s happened?’ Mark shouts. I hear the roar of traffic down the phone. He must be parked somewhere.

‘Your mum rang,’ he says. ‘She said you had some kind of breakdown at your counsellor’s house? I said I’d come and get you but she told me not to. Is she there?’

‘Yes. She’s in the kitchen. So’s Dad.’

‘Good. That’s good. So what happened?’

I push the living-room door closed, aware that my parents have suddenly gone quiet in the kitchen just a few metres away.

‘I had a difficult session, that’s all. Sonia hypnotized me. She said she wanted to discover the reason for my blackouts.’

‘Did it work? What did you say?’

That I don’t trust anyone apart from my parents.

‘Sonia says I have a lot of fears that I haven’t confronted.’

‘What kind of fears?’

‘Fears about what happened to Billy.’

There’s a pause, long enough for me to wonder if we’ve been cut off.

‘Mark, are you still there? Can you hear me?’

‘Yes. I can hear you. I was just …’ I hear the spark of a lighter and the sound of my husband inhaling deeply on a cigarette. ‘Sorry. I know you hate me smoking but—’

‘It’s okay. It’s fine.’

‘So what –’ he inhales on his cigarette again – ‘what kind of fears are we talking about? Because we talked about this the other day. You can’t assume anything until we hear back from DS Forbes, sweetheart. And if we hear the worst then we’ll deal with it. We’ll get through it.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is that what upset you?’

Now it’s my turn to pause.

‘Claire? Are you still there?’

‘Yes.’ I sit down on the sofa and reach for a cushion. I pull it close and bury my face in it. The soft material slips between my lips and stoppers my nostrils but I can still breathe. I press harder. I wait for panic to rise in my chest, for the compulsion to rip it away from my face to kick in, but none comes.