He must have been planning it for a while. A new job with Kent County Council – I didn’t even know he’d applied – and a cottage outside Sevenoaks. It looked like something from a fairy story, by which I mean full of sweetmeats and dark magic. As if guilty about what he was selling us, the estate agent pointed out the patchy mobile reception, the fact the road often flooded. ‘The nearest station is five miles,’ he said, looking doubtfully at my heeled boots. ‘So if you need to get to London, it’s not that easy.’

‘We won’t be in London,’ said Nick firmly. I remember him standing there on that mild spring day, in sensible walking shoes, the North Face jacket that I secretly hated. ‘Suzi’s going to give up work.’

I was such a fool. Even with all this new machismo, the secret job, the proposed move, it wasn’t until this point I realised he might know about Damian.

You remember I told you about Damian.

We never discussed it, as crazy as that sounds, Nick and I. It was buried in the ground between us, a landmine ready to go off. I couldn’t even ask, because I wasn’t sure what he knew, and if I was wrong, I’d be handing myself in to him. And here’s the thing – when someone gives you an ultimatum, it’s often a relief, after all that confusion, to no longer have any choice. So without me actually agreeing to it or any discussion at all, I was giving my notice and pretending I wanted to grow rhubarb in the countryside. My friends expressed happiness, in voices stretched with fear. What if someone made them move to the country too?

On the day we left our flat, hired van loaded up, I watched London dissolve into a succession of warehouses and blank suburbs, melting into green fields. When we arrived there was a stack of books on the table with titles like: Improving Your Fertility. What to Expect Before You’re Expecting. Kitchen Gardening for Beginners. The heavy door sealed shut, and I wondered if I’d ever get out again.

Music. I heard music. I lifted my head from the computer, slowly, puzzled. It was faint, but growing louder. A pop-up on the screen? I tried shutting down Chrome, but it continued. Had I left the radio on? No, I hadn’t had it on that morning. I wandered into the kitchen in search of the sound. Nick had forgotten his phone, maybe, or his iPad. We really had too many gadgets in this house. My own phone was charging on the side, the battery always drained these days. I’d have to buy a new one eventually, I knew, but some stupid sentiment made me cling to this one, the phone I’d used to contact you.