The lane is lined with trees, their branches bare for now, but come the spring I bet it feels like a leafy little haven. I drive slowly, trying to spot house numbers to give me a clue as to whether I’m heading in the right direction, but the houses all seem to have name-plaques on their walls instead of street numbers – The Maltings, Courtenay House, Meadow View (not sure that one’s strictly accurate, unless they have a really large garden), Orchard Villa, The Willows. And then I reach it – The Ridings.

I cruise past slowly, taking in the wide expanse of driveway and the smart brick facade. I can just picture the Morrises living there. The Ridings suits them much more than their current flat, but I guess Shaun’s stint in prison must be responsible for them losing all their money. I have a clear vision of Bella growing up here in privileged luxury. Spending time in her beautifully decorated bedroom. Cosying up with rest of the family at Christmas around a traditional open fire. Running around on the lawn in summer wearing a succession of expensive, pretty summer dresses. I only hope that amidst all that privilege and wealth, she’s been loved and cared for. That’s the only thing I care about.

I pull up just beyond the property, in front of their neighbour’s hedge so my car is screened from view. I take a swig of water and then check my face in the rear-view mirror. My eyes are bruised with dark circles, my skin mottled and blotchy. At least I washed my hair last night, so it looks nice and shiny. I also dressed relatively smartly today in my black jeans, blue polo neck and wool coat. It doesn’t guarantee I won’t get the door slammed in my face, but hopefully at least one of the neighbours will speak to me.

There’s no point sitting here trying to work up the nerve. I don’t have the luxury of time anyway. Not if I’m going to get home before anyone notices I’m missing. I may as well just get this over with. I take my umbrella out of the pocket in the car door, grab my handbag and step out onto the pavement. I’ll try knocking on the door of the house I’ve parked outside. Walking around to the wrought-iron entrance gate, I see that this property is attached to The Ridings, so I’m hoping whoever lives here will know Kate and her family quite well.