I sit at the table, my heart racing. The way Connor has been talking, he thinks I’m some self-centred, jealous girlfriend. But I do care about his work and it was him who brought up Sam, a woman I didn’t know existed until just now, and the fact that they had been to a boxing match together.

‘Here we are,’ says the waitress, placing the second bottle of Rioja on the table. ‘Enjoy.’

She slinks away, clearly disappointed to have missed another opportunity to flirt with Connor. Yet as I think this thought, I ask myself if I am doing what Connor has accused me of: being paranoid. This woman is just being friendly, doing her job, chatting to the customers.

Loosen up, Vanessa, I tell myself as Connor returns to the table. Show him that you’re not being a boring, paranoid sap.

‘Right,’ I say, pouring him another glass of wine as Spanish guitar music strikes up. ‘Let’s start this evening again. I’m sorry I’ve been a grouch, baby. It’s just been a long week and I’ve missed you.’

‘I missed you too,’ says Connor, his eyes twinkling in the half-light. ‘Let’s not waste another second arguing over things that don’t matter.’

I smile and take a glug of wine, but it burns all the way down my throat.

15. Now

I walk back to Georgie’s house in a daze and I’m trembling so much it takes me three attempts to get the key in the lock. When I finally get the door open I’m greeted by the sight of Jack rushing towards me, his face flushed.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he says, the colour fading from his cheeks. ‘We thought it was … quick, come in.’

Georgie appears behind him and puts her hands round his waist.

‘Hi, darling,’ she says to me, smiling. ‘How are you?’

‘Make sure the latch is on, Vanessa,’ says Jack, looking intently at the door.

He’s scaring me now. And after the shock I’ve just had, this is the last thing I need.

‘What’s the matter?’ I say, the grisly photo of Geoffrey’s dead body seared into my mind. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘Not sure really,’ says Jack, smiling unconvincingly. ‘It seems there was an intruder spotted in next-door’s garden last night. Number 1. Old Mrs Haverleigh’s place. Her son came round this morning to let us know. It’s probably just kids – or even, dare I say it, Mrs H’s mind playing tricks on her. She’s almost ninety and gets easily confused. I caught her putting out full milk bottles instead of the empties last week. Still, it wouldn’t hurt us to be a bit more vigilant. Anyway, I need to do some work, I’ll be in my study if anyone needs me.’

I glance at my sister as Jack disappears down the passageway. She looks tired.