I light candles and turn off the spotlights, shake a few drops of essential oil into the bathwater, then slip out of my robe. Before I get in, I can’t resist one last peek at my screen. Neither Anna nor Tim is moving. This is paranoia, I think. To stop myself looking again, I put the phone out of reach and get into the bath. The water is the way I like it, hot enough that it takes a second or two to get used to, stinging my skin. I sink down with a sigh. A weight has been temporarily lifted. I am on my own; or as good as. Cocooned like this, I can imagine that Nick is downstairs scrolling through our TV recordings to see if we have an episode of some engrossing drama to catch up on. I feel a lump rise in my throat. There are several things on there that we had been enjoying together, that now he won’t see the final episodes of.

In the privacy of my bathroom, with the steam rising round me, I allow myself the luxury of crying.

When I come out, warm in my dressing gown, the house is silent. I’ve never felt nervous on my own here before, but something raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I move aside the curtains and look up and down Burnside Road, but even its respectable serenity unnerves me. A car turns the corner from the direction of the Common and I’m sure it slows as it passes this house. My heart hammering, I open Nick’s wardrobe, push his clothes aside and lean into the corner where he keeps his old school cricket bat. I lay it on the carpet beside the bed and it makes me feel better.

I read for half an hour, then switch off my bedside light and fall asleep. Some time later I’m woken by a sound and sit bolt upright. I bend slowly and reach for the bat, curling my fingers around the handle. Then I hear the distinctive jangle of keys and breathe a long sigh of relief, but I still creep out on to the landing holding the bat, in case I’m wrong.

Downstairs Tim tells Toffee to sit. He says, ‘Good boy.’ He takes off Toffee’s lead, and the dog’s toenails skitter on the floor as he runs into the kitchen to look for me, then runs out again.

There’s a moment of silence, then Tim calls my name softly.

I don’t answer. He goes back into the kitchen and I close my bedroom door. It’s eleven thirty. I read a new chapter, to settle myself, then switch off the light and watch the numbers on the digital clock slowly change. Somewhere in the house running water burbles from a tap.