I talk about the weekend with the boys on the walk home from school, explaining how I need to see Richard. I big up the proposed two-night sleepover with Jo and Keeley, and even Finley jumps up and down at the prospect of having time out of our house and spending it playing games, building Lego and watching movies with his favourite aunties.

‘It’ll be like a holiday,’ Leo says, excitedly.

‘Tonight and tomorrow night? Really?’ Finley asks.

‘Yes – I know you’ve never stayed more than—’

‘Excellent!’ he says, before I can finish my sentence.

A twinge of guilt pulls at my insides. I hate lying to them, and saying I’m going to spend time with Richard instead of them feels terrible. They don’t appear bothered, though, and once we’re home, they both rush upstairs to pack their rucksacks. Jo said to drop them over for 6 p.m. A nervous flutter consumes my stomach.

‘They’ll be fine here,’ Jo says when we get to theirs.

‘I know. Thanks for having them. I really do appreciate it.’

‘No problem at all. You know we enjoy having them – it brings out my inner child again, which pleases Keeley no end.’

I attempt a smile, but it’s more of a twitch. After further assertions from Jo that the boys are in good hands – and a serious request that I’ll call if I need them – I leave and walk back home. The empty feeling in my stomach is as cavernous as the emptiness of the quiet house when I walk into the hallway.

The house is all wrong. It doesn’t feel comfortable and safe.

It no longer feels like my home.

I call Richard as soon as I get in but am deliberately vague – I tell him I feel in need of some respite, some alone time, therefore have dropped the boys at Jo and Keeley’s. I hold back from telling him everything. I’m in the house – I’ll assume from here on in that someone is listening. Watching.

A sudden jolt, like an electric shock, strikes me.

What about Richard?

At no point had I considered putting him on my list of suspects.

Jo’s words echo in my ears: You shouldn’t discount anyone. Oh, my God. Could he really be capable of these things? He is keen for me to leave this house, leave Devon and move to Kent with him. Possibly enough of a motive to frighten me; get me moving more quickly.

No. Calm down.

I’m allowing paranoia to overtake logical thought. The very fact I love Richard and am confident enough in our relationship to move to Kent with him must mean something. I need to trust my judgement. Trust my gut, my heart. I have to believe in him right now – it’s all I’ve got.