‘How long was Sienna here before I got home?’ she asks Rob when they’re in bed that night. She hasn’t had a chance to speak to him before now; he’s been buried in work until this moment.

‘Not sure. An hour maybe. I didn’t think you’d be that long. How was Mel? Was she surprised to see you?’

But Abby doesn’t want to talk about her impromptu trip to Ipswich. She needs to know exactly what Sienna has said to Rob, and she can only hope it doesn’t raise any suspicions when she asks.

‘She’s fine.’ Abby pauses. ‘How did Sienna seem tonight?’

Rob frowns. ‘Well, not good. She’s always been so… bubbly?’

Abby despises this word but it’s an accurate description, at least for how Sienna was. Now it’s as though all the life has been sucked out of her, leaving behind a hollow shell. ‘She’s worried about Greg,’ Abby says. ‘But I don’t think she wants to admit that maybe he has actually left her.’

Rob nods. ‘I hate jumping to conclusions but you’re probably right. I mean, if he’d had an accident or something then someone would have found him by now.’

‘Unless he’s done this on purpose? Maybe he wants people to think he’s disappeared so he can start a new life somewhere. You hear about people doing that, don’t you?’

Rob’s face creases. ‘Yeah, I suppose. But it wouldn’t be easy to just… erase all traces of yourself, would it?’ He takes Abby’s hand, gently kisses it. ‘Do you think you’ve been reading too many crime novels?’ He smiles, and she knows it’s to show he doesn’t mean this to be patronising.

She turns onto her side. ‘Ignore me. I’m just worried about Sienna.’

Rob switches off his bedside lamp. ‘Let’s see what tomorrow brings.’

And this is exactly what she fears.

When she’s certain Rob is asleep, she creeps out of bed, tiptoeing out of the bedroom. There’s no need for her to take such precautions; Rob is a heavy sleeper, so she’s unlikely to wake him just by slipping out of the bedroom. Still, there’s something she needs to do, and she doesn’t want to have to explain herself.

In the spare room she crosses to the chest of drawers and pulls her laptop from the bottom drawer. She sits on the bed while she waits for it to load. They still haven’t decorated this room; now she doubts they ever will. Sorting out the house is no longer important.

What she’s doing can easily be done on her phone, but she makes the choice to hide away in here; she needs to read those words again, larger than her phone screen would allow them to be.

I’m sorry, he writes.