‘I want to know what it was about Geoffrey, about that house, that sent you over the edge,’ he says, leaning forward in his chair. ‘There’s more to this than you’re letting on, Vanessa. This is more than just jealousy, isn’t it? What was it that made you snap?’

‘This is crazy,’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm. ‘You’re actually saying I had something to do with Geoffrey Rivers’s murder?’

‘I’m saying that you have a temper, Vanessa,’ says Bains, tapping his fingers on the table. ‘When things don’t go your way you lash out. That’s what happened to Jackie Dawkins, isn’t it?’

At the mention of Connor’s mother my legs buckle. If he’s told them what I did to her then it’s all over for me. I’m finished.

I get out of bed and make my way across the landing. I can hear you singing along to the radio in the kitchen. Radio 2. Terry Wogan’s breakfast show. You’re singing along to a song. It’s an old song. One that Terry Wogan must really like because he’s always playing it: ‘January, February’ by Barbara Dickson. You seem to like it too because I hear you turn the radio up so the song fills the house. I stand holding the banister, glowing with contentment. It’s the first day of the summer holidays. There’s no school to worry about, no cross-country runs, no wandering round the edge of the playground wishing I was somewhere else. I don’t have to worry about any of that because I am at home with you.

I go downstairs and as I walk into the kitchen you look up at me and smile. Your teeth are sparkly white and you have a gap between the front two that you have always been self-conscious about though I think it makes you look pretty.

‘ Morning, my darling,’ you say, your green eyes twinkling. ‘Fancy some breakfast?’

I nod my head, a deep feeling of contentment filling my bones. There is nowhere else I would rather be than here with you.

6. Then

2 October 2017

I’ve only just arrived back at the flat when I hear the key in the lock. Work has been tough today – a backlog of emails to deal with, a disgruntled Damian who needed to be placated when I presented him with my monthly budget forecast, three of my team of five off sick – but I know, as I hear Lottie’s footsteps coming up the stairs, that the toughest part of the day is yet to come.

‘Hello, stranger,’ she says, bounding towards me with her arms outstretched. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you. I was steeling myself for a night alone with Netflix and a takeaway. Speaking of which, do you fancy Chinese?’