After the lunchtime rush, the café quietens down a lot. More than usual in fact. Probably because the awful weather is keeping everyone indoors. The only customers left are a couple dawdling over their lunch, and a table of workmen having coffee and doughnuts. I clear and wipe down all the other tables and sweep the floor until it’s spotless. There’s half an hour until my shift is due to end and I then have to race over to the school to pick up Charlie and Jess. That leaves me no time to go back on Facebook to analyse that comment and see if there are any other similar ones.

‘Dee…’

‘Yes, go on, you can go,’ she says drily.

I feel simultaneously relieved and guilty. ‘Am I that transparent?’

‘I don’t know what’s been up with you these past few days, but there’s obviously something you’re itching to go and do. So go on.’

‘I love you, Dee.’

She rolls her eyes. ‘You’ve worked bloody hard today and it’s pretty dead in here now. I might even close up early, go home, run a bubble bath and finish my book.’

‘Sounds like heaven. I’ve just got to run a quick errand before picking the kids up. Is there anything else you need me to do before I go?’

She flicks a wash cloth in my direction. ‘No, scoot! Before I change my mind.’

‘Thank you.’ I blow her a kiss, grab my bag, coat and brolly and head back out into the downpour. I can’t believe I managed to get through my shift in one piece. That was the hardest bit of play-acting I’ve ever had to do. My heart begins to race as I make my way back to the car, barely registering the lashing downpour soaking my jeans and the water running in rivulets down my neck. I use my umbrella as a shield as the rain flies at me sideways.

Finally I reach my Polo and wrestle with my handbag, keys and umbrella until I manage to get myself into the car. Despite the muffled clatter of rain against the windscreen and bonnet, it feels relatively quiet in here. Just the thump of my heart and the sound of my breathing.

I unzip my parka and dry my hands on my sweatshirt before getting my phone out of my bag. I still have around twenty minutes until I need to drive to school so I’d better make it count. When I tap the Facebook icon it opens on exactly the same page where I left it this morning. And there, below Kate’s post, is the comment I saw earlier from a woman called Marie Damerham – presumably one of Kate’s old friends. I read it again.

Hey, lovely, I hear Shaun gets out next week. Anything you need, let me know.

Shaun gets out.