A hush settled over the house. From outside, there was still the muffled sound of the odd car passing that the triple glazing couldn’t quite mute, a comfortable city sound that usually helped her drift off to sleep. But tonight it wouldn’t come. Her brain might be mush, but it was restless mush. Had Amelia tried to poison her? She’d certainly felt worse after the tea, groggier, more disconnected. And there was Amelia’s surely overdramatic reaction when she’d opened the door. Maybe, she hadn’t expected her to appear.

Molly stared at the ceiling. Would Amelia really have risked killing her in her own home? Surely not. But a thought struck her as she closed her eyes. Amelia hadn’t been expected. If she’d succeeded, nobody would know she’d been there and Molly’s death would have been seen as a delayed reaction to the accident.

It was strange how perfect clarity seemed to come in the middle of the night as if, with all the external distractions gone, everything could slot into place. It was Amelia. Molly was sure of it.

An hour later, clarity had become fuzzy. After all, if they found her dead, they’d do a post-mortem and whatever weird drug she’d given her would show up, wouldn’t it? Maybe there were drugs that didn’t. She’d no idea. Anyway, what possible reason would her friend have for killing her? Exhausted, Molly fell asleep, unsure of anything.

She was surprised when she woke to find it was almost nine. There wasn’t a sound in the house. Jack had probably gone to work. No doubt he’d looked in on her and saw she was asleep. He wouldn’t have wanted to disturb her to say goodbye. Turning, moving very slowly, she slid out of the bed. She kept her right arm close to her damaged rib, relieved it was less painful. Pulling on a robe, she put her mobile in the pocket and crossed the landing to the spare bedroom. The door was open, the bed empty.

Downstairs, she found a note propped against the coffee jar. I looked in on you and you were out for the count. Hope you have a good day. I’ll ring later. Rest!

Smiling, she crumpled it, threw it into the bin and reached for her phone. Two minutes later, after an embarrassing phone call to Dawson Marketing to explain that she had been in an accident and wouldn’t be in for a few more days, she hung up and checked for messages. There were three: one each from Remi and Freya, and one from Amelia.

Her children sent the usual messages of reassurance. They were having a great time. Some part of her world was ticking by the way it was supposed to.