He ran everything by DS Forbes. ‘That’s the correct terminology, isn’t it, DS Forbes?’ ‘It’s important we have a chain of command, right, DS Forbes?’ ‘What’s the latest, DS Forbes?’ I was proud of him, assuming control, role-playing the career he’d so desperately wanted but part of me felt like screaming, ‘This shouldn’t be happening. Why is this happening? What did we do to deserve this? What did Billy do? No one should feel this kind of fear.’

Now my mobile phone bleeps impatiently in my bag and I snatch it up.

‘Claire Bear!’ I hold the phone a bit further away as Liz’s voice booms into my ear. ‘Are you at work?’

‘Nearly. I’m parked up outside.’

‘You don’t have to go back, you know. I know it was my idea but—’

‘It’s all right. I can do this.’

‘Did you tell Mark you were going back to work?’

‘Yes, this morning.’

‘And?’

‘He said, “Do what you need to do, Claire.” Then he walked out of the bedroom.’

‘Supportive. Oh, shit. Sorry, lovely, early shift today and I’m due back on the tills. I’d better go. I’ll give you a ring during my next break, okay?’

‘Thanks, Liz.’

‘Good luck. You’ll be fine.’

The line goes dead.

I look at the screen. 9.25 a.m. It’s not too late to text Stephen to say I won’t be in after all.

A thumping sound on the driver’s-side window makes me jump.

‘Claire!’ Stephen makes a ‘wind down the window’ gesture. ‘Good to see you!’ he shouts. ‘You coming in?’

The second I step through the wide double doors, every pair of eyes in the building swivels in my direction.

‘All right, Claire!’ Wendy, one of the cashiers, raises her hand. Her smile is tight, nervous.

‘Good to see you back, Mrs W.’ Tony, the timber specialist. He gives me a nod, but it’s short and sharp. The kind of nod you give someone at a funeral – nice to see you but not in these circumstances.

‘Morning!’ One of the regulars, whose name I don’t know. He glances away before I can acknowledge him.

‘Stephen, could you excuse me for a second.’ I sprint away before he can object and head for the ladies’ loos.

When I emerge from the cubicle I am shocked by the reflection that stares back at me from the tarnished mirror. My hair is wet with sweat around the hairline and my cheeks are flushed. This wasn’t how I imagined coming back to work. Not that I’ve given Wilkinson & Son much thought since Billy left but this place has always represented normality. I come in, I do my job, I banter with my colleagues and the regulars. We swap stories about the weather and the traffic and how we spent our weekend. Will I ever be able to do that again?