I turn the screen towards him, giving him a friendly smile because I know his question is an olive branch and I want Lottie to see us presenting a united front.

‘It’s to motivate me. Look.’ I tap on groups and show him the little cartoons. We both go silent and I know he’s looking at Nick’s avatar: the cheerful little cartoon bird.

He hands it back to me. ‘Can I get that? Cora’s always on at me to do more exercise.’

I hesitate, then say, ‘Sure. I’ll invite you, you accept my invitation. Then you’re on.’

‘As simple as that, eh?’

‘As simple as that.’

The next morning, I’m checking through my handbag to make sure I’ve got everything I need for an appointment with Rupert’s architect, when someone comes up the steps. A shadow appears behind the door, so close to me that I start. My mind immediately goes to Nick, to the police, to Douglas. Toffee comes running out of the kitchen and I grab his collar and tell him to shush. A heavy ache settles into my diaphragm, as if someone’s pressing their fist in there. I open the door.

Marsh’s expression is grave, and I buckle, the blood draining from my face. He grips my elbow, then puts a fatherly arm around me and leads me into the sitting room.

‘Mr and Mrs Ritchie,’ he says, spotting them standing together in the kitchen doorway. ‘You need to hear this as well.’

Cora is as white as a sheet as she follows us into the sitting room, Tim wooden. They sit down on the sofa and hold hands. I take the armchair.

‘We’ve found something,’ Marsh says.

GRACE

Tuesday, 1 May 2018

EVERYTHING DROPS AWAY: THE FLOOR, THE WALLS, the props that held me together; the hope and the belief that things like this happen to other people. The room spins and stars cluster in front of my eyes. I put my hand on Toffee’s head, and he rests his chin on my knee and gazes up at me. Beside me Cora subsides, her shoulders curling forwards.

Devon and Cornwall Police have found a carrier bag filled with things that they think might belong to Nick, close to where Izzy allegedly went in.

The WPC accompanying Marsh comes in with cups of tea and sets them down on the coffee table, then stands to one side.

‘But I would have seen it,’ I say. ‘I was right there.’

‘If it was Nick, he went to some trouble to hide it. It’d been buried under leaves and dirt in the undergrowth, about twenty feet from where Izzy’s shoes were found. You could easily have missed it. Did he really never tell you about that day?’

‘No, not a word.’