Back inside my house, I lean against the closed front door and contemplate what I should do. The doorbell has been deliberately broken – there’s no way it could’ve been an accident unless someone was moving something large and heavy in or out of the house and banged against it. This is not the case and I’ve been home all morning with no one coming to the door. The last time someone rang the bell was days ago now, so I can’t pinpoint when it might’ve happened. But surely I’d have noticed the damage this morning – if not when I left the house to take the boys to school, then on my return. It’s so obviously broken, with shards of dark plastic hanging from it, I’d have seen it when putting the key in the lock. Therefore, it must have occurred between ten past nine and now – eleven thirty. Maybe that was the noise I’d initially heard when I was sitting in the kitchen looking at my laptop.

The obvious person to ask about whether they saw anything is Davina. She said herself that she sits at the lounge window looking out on the street. If anyone had been hanging around my house, she’d have spotted them. I grab my phone, handbag and key and leave.

‘Ah, Amber. An unexpected delight,’ Davina says as she opens the door and lets me in. Her reaction is stilted. Guarded. Her tone falsely light. I immediately sense I’ve walked into an awkward situation. I gaze around her lounge. It manages to be minimalistic yet crowded at the same time; I’m not sure how – it’s larger than mine, as Davina’s is one of the semi-detached properties on Apple Grove. There isn’t a lot of furniture: a cream-coloured sofa runs along one wall, a slimline bookcase opposite. It’s that which makes the room feel cluttered, I think – there are so many books and magazines all haphazardly jammed onto the shelves. I peer to the right, which would be where her kitchen is situated. I can hear some movement in there – her husband, I assume. Perhaps I’ve just disturbed an argument. Now, as Davina stands beside me, I notice her eyes are red-rimmed. God, what timing I have.

‘I’m so sorry to bother you,’ I say.

‘No bother. Sit down. You want a cup of tea?’ Her voice is tense, her words delivered in a staccato fashion.

I don’t want to stay in this atmosphere any longer than necessary, so I sit, but decline her offer of a drink. ‘Have you been writing this morning?’ I ask as a way of breaking into the conversation I want to have.