I crouch and stroke Toffee’s head, then pull him against me until he gets fed up and wriggles out of my arms, his nails catching at my dressing gown. I added Nick to the app recently because he’s been moaning about his sedentary job. Since then he’s taken over Toffee’s early Sunday morning walks, leaving me to linger in the warmth of our bed. I doubt that’s going to happen tomorrow; he’ll want to sleep in after this. I smile to myself. Unless I kick him out.

My smile vanishes. This isn’t funny. I can’t sit around fidgeting any longer; I run upstairs and put my clothes back on and let myself out into the night.

The sky is clear and there’s a thin crescent moon rising above the Common. The street lights cast a soft orange glow over the pavements and colour the leaf buds on the trees. I follow the route Nick is most likely to have taken, avoiding the Common, both because it’s scary after dark, and because without the dog he will have had no reason to go there. When I reach the parade I’m surprised at how many people are out and about; a late worker on his way home from the station; someone coming out of the minimart; a couple walking their dog. When I get to the pub, I pick Toffee up, push open the door and do a quick circuit, then leave once I’ve established Nick’s not there. There’s no way I’m asking the landlady if she’s seen my boyfriend. That would be embarrassing.

Fiancé, I think, with a jolt. He’s my fiancé now. After seven years together, seven years of Nick helping me raise my daughter, today he asked me to marry him and I said yes. That’s why this is so weird. With Lottie at a sleepover we should have been spending a romantic evening together; instead I’m all worked up, pounding the streets in search of him, dragging a reluctant dog along with me, trying not to think the unthinkable: that he’s with someone else.

A cool breeze lifts my hair and sends a small piece of litter scuttling into the doorway of the estate agent’s. A young couple leave the burger restaurant, crossing the road towards the bus stop. Behind me someone pushes open the door and I jump out of my skin. A man comes out, telling a story over his shoulder to the woman following him. She laughs and lights a cigarette.

Sirens wail in the distance and I wait, watching the main road that flanks the Common as the blue lights flash. He’s had an accident. I imagine a hit-and-run, Nick’s body flying, his head smashing into the kerb. I hold my breath as two police cars speed by, but they don’t stop.