I clasp my hands on my lap and stare down at them, taking a breath. And then I launch into the same story I told Matt. About how my daughter went missing. Again, I tell it dispassionately, almost as though I’m reading it off a script. I can hear how cold and detached I sound, but I’m scared to really engage with my words because I don’t want to get emotional in front of this stranger.

There’s a short silence after I finish talking, as though the room is resettling and adjusting to the information.

‘That must have been a traumatic experience, Rachel.’ He holds his chin. ‘When did it happen?’

‘Nine years ago.’

‘Have you spoken about it with anyone during that time? Family or friends?’

‘No. I only just told Matt last week.’

‘What about at the time when it happened? Did you have counselling then?’

‘A couple of sessions, but I can’t remember much about them if I’m honest.’

He nods thoughtfully. There are a lot of pauses between my answers and his questions. I guess he’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I still feel on my guard, scared of saying the wrong thing. Scared of opening the floodgates my emotions are pushing against.

‘Did friends and family offer support back then?’

‘My husband at the time – Andy – he blamed me. We split up not long after and now he lives in Spain with a new family.’

‘That must have been hard on you.’

‘I suppose it was at the time, but looking back, I think it’s a good thing we’re not together any more. We weren’t right for each other. I’m much happier with Matt.’

‘That’s good. Do you think much about Holly now?’

‘Every day.’

‘So you think about her every day, but you never talk about her?’

I consider his question for a few moments. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I just got used to keeping her as a secret. I was scared to open up because I was scared of breaking down, I suppose. And I was aware that Matt would start looking at me differently. He might not think I was a fit mother for our children, after what happened.’

‘Do you really believe he would think that?’

I shrug. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. Do you mind if I…’ I point to the jug of water.

‘Help yourself.’

Pouring out the water allows me a few seconds respite from the conversation. I wasn’t expecting it to get so intense so quickly. Robin is gently spoken but his questions have a way of cutting to the heart of things. I’m not entirely sure I’m strong enough to do this. I take a sip of the water and then another before replacing the glass on the tray and wiping my mouth with the knuckle of my forefinger.

‘Okay?’ he asks.