My torch beam rests on a pretty white dressing table littered with hair products, make-up and jewellery. Then I spot Bella’s green hairbrush. That’s what I’ve come for. I move carefully across the floor, stepping over discarded clothes, empty plates and tumblers. Directing the torchlight down onto the brush, I heave a sigh of relief when I see that its bristles are thick with Bella’s dark hair – exactly what I need. Amy must have her own brush, because I can’t see any of her blonde hairs in this one, thank goodness.

I fumble in my pocket for the Ziploc bag and open it up with my gloved fingers. Then I take Bella’s hairbrush, pull out several clumps of the hair and shove them into the bag.

Okay, I need to get out of here now. I creep back across her bedroom, deciding to try going out through the front door. I don’t fancy climbing out over all that broken glass. I must already have some of it embedded in my shoes and coat, but it’s too dark to check myself. I’ll be so relieved when I’m out of here and back in my car. Hopefully, now I have some of Bella’s hair, I’ll finally be able to determine without a doubt whether or not she’s my daughter.

The bedroom door has swung shut behind me, so I pull it open again and step into the hall, my torch in hand.

‘Kate?’ A gruff, croaky voice in front of me makes my blood turn to ice and my legs turn to jelly.

It must be Shaun.

With a shaking hand, I shove the Ziploc bag into my coat pocket and shine my torch straight ahead. Shaun is shielding his eyes from the beam and fumbling for the light switch on the wall.

What should I do? What should I do?

I can’t overpower him. I should run before the light comes on, but my body is frozen in place. He’s blocking my route to the front door and to the bathroom – the only two means of escape, unless I risk running into another room and hoping I can open another window. If I don’t move now, I’ll be trapped in here with a criminal. Possibly a dangerous one. I don’t even want to think about what he might do.

The overhead light blinds me for a second until I refocus and see a dishevelled Shaun standing before me, dressed in a T-shirt and crumpled pyjama bottoms. I’m thrown for a moment – he looks ill. His eyes are bloodshot, his chin is a mass of patchy stubble, and there’s a glaze of sweat across his pallid face.

‘You…’ he says drowsily.

‘I’m-I’m sorry!’

He blinks. ‘What are you doing here? Is Kate back? Are you here with Kate and the kids?’ He looks around wildly.