I switch the television on and search for something to take my mind off all this, but my heart is racing and I can’t settle. I throw the controls to one side. Tim is conciliatory, but I’m tired of their good-cop-bad-cop nonsense. I sit hugging my knees, focusing on the middle distance, trying to work out what to do. With Cora out of the way, it should be possible to have a sensible conversation with Tim. Maybe. I drag myself off the sofa and open the door. In the kitchen, Tim has put on my Jack Johnson CD. The one that I play when I need to unwind, when I don’t want a random stream from Spotify to ambush me with something inappropriate to my mood. And, true to his word, he’s cooking. Tim does charm well, but two can play at that game. I nip upstairs, put make-up on and run a brush through my hair.

His smile, when I appear looking normal and cheerful, is genial. He pours me a large glass of Nick’s favourite wine. We maintain a flow of chatter, mostly about Lottie and her school, and the locals who he’s fast getting to know. I laugh too much but he doesn’t seem to notice that. I steer the conversation round to him and he becomes expansive. In a small corner of my mind, I’m thinking, what would Anna do if she wanted to wrap a man around her little finger? I run my fingers through my hair and flick it back.

Tim serves up a grilled-chicken risotto and baby new potatoes roasted in garlic, rosemary from the garden and olive oil. On the side we have French beans, steamed to perfection, with a melting knob of butter drizzling over them.

‘Smells delicious.’

‘Oh, I make it all the time,’ Tim says. ‘It’s my stress-free supper. Bon appétit.’

Tim is comfortable at my table, with me, the woman he’s just told he’s intending to kick out of her own house. He’s comfortable because he only ever looks for the easy option, and right now, the easiest option is to go with the flow. I am being friendly, so he’s happy to be friendly too. It’s the way he’s built. I’ve been blind, deliberately so, because he’s so much easier to like than Cora. As I watch him eat, I wonder if Cora knows this, whether she married him to disguise her own deficiencies. If I was being really bitchy, I’d suggest that people put up with her because Tim is such good company. Without him, I reckon half her friends would fall away.

I rest my knife and fork on the plate and sit back. ‘Can I ask you a question?’

His eyes widen. He looks like Nick when he does that, and my heart contracts.

‘Do you think Nick’s dead?’