I’m not sure what to say. Is she delusional? Am I?

‘I don’t understand; please explain. You’ve got five minutes before I call the police.’

‘Don’t do that, Amber. There’s too much at stake.’

‘Talk, Davina. Now.’ I quickly look around to see where my handbag is. My phone. It’s not on the hall table.

Windowsill. I think I left it there when I was looking outside.

‘We shouldn’t talk here. He’ll hear us,’ Davina says.

‘If he’s been listening, then surely he’d be here right now. With us. Whoever he is.’

‘I gave us a head start. He was otherwise occupied when I came across to see you. That’s why I chose then. It’s why I turned the light off; I thought if I scared you out of the house, I could make it all stop. Do the job instead of him. I wouldn’t hurt you, but I can’t speak for him. As you can see’ – she points a finger to the bruise on her face for him – ‘he’s a hit-first-explain-later kind of man.’

‘Are you telling me the person behind this is—’

‘Wayne. Yes,’ she says.

‘Your husband? The person no one seems to have set eyes on. The man who supposedly beats you. You expect me to believe that?’

‘It’s true. Look, I need to get you somewhere safe.’

How was I so blind? It’s all her. This entire time, Davina has been lying. Her whole life is one big, fat lie. She must be suffering with a personality disorder – making up a husband, an entire backstory. It’s why she’s always so vague. Why she doesn’t want me, or anyone else, to meet him. Because there is no Wayne. He’s a figment of her imagination – and she’s lied for years. The possibility had crossed my mind, but I thought I was being overdramatic. Jesus. How has no one realised before? And now she wants to get me alone – away from this house, under the guise of it being for my own safety.

She is the one I’m at risk of.

‘No, Davina. Enough now. This is madness—’

‘It’s too late,’ Davina gasps, backing away from the front door. ‘I think he’s here.’

Well, this should be interesting. Does she truly believe Wayne is about to walk into my house? ‘Have you got my mobile, Davina?’ It suddenly strikes me – maybe she took my phone so I couldn’t call Nick. Or the police. She backs up, grabbing my arm and begins to drag me back towards the lounge with her.

‘He’s got spyware on your phone. On your laptop. In your house. He’s aware of every move you’ve made, every move you plan to make. And you’ve not been doing what he wanted. What they want.’