The only variation was the jewellery she added. Today, she picked up a string of dark blue Murano beads they’d bought in Venice on their first wedding anniversary and hung them around her neck. They were heavy, went almost to her waist, and made any outfit look good.

Make-up applied with practised ease, a brush flicked through her straight auburn hair and she was ready to go. She grabbed her bag and the barely-charged phone and rushed down the stairs with one final thing to do — grab the list she’d stuck to the front of the fridge freezer. Her eyes ran down it and she swore softly.

What a stupid, stupid idea this had been!

Up till a few weeks ago, they’d had a housekeeper. Ten years before, following a succession of unsatisfactory au pairs and unreliable childcare, they’d been alerted by a friend of a friend to a woman looking for part-time work. Rebecca, an English teacher who’d taken early retirement to look after her terminally ill husband and now widowed, wanted something less onerous than teaching. Freya and Remi had taken an instant liking to the kind woman who appeared to have an endless supply of patience and good humour. She’d come on a temporary basis and stayed, running the house in her calm, unhurried way; there every day when the children came home from school, always waiting with a pot of tea ready when Molly arrived home after a stressful day at work. Rebecca had become part of the family; celebrating when Remi and Freya got the university places they’d wanted, sobbing along with Molly when first Remi, then Freya had left.

A week later, Jack insisted there was no longer a reason to have a housekeeper. ‘It’s hard to justify the expense for the two of us,’ he’d said.

Molly had looked at him, horrified. Get rid of Rebecca… he couldn’t be serious. Molly was going to argue that they both had busy, high-pressure jobs and it was a relief to come home to an organised house, the words on the tip of her tongue slipping away when she saw his troubled expression.

There had been grumbles recently about work; she’d thought nothing of it – the world of finance tended to be volatile – but maybe this was something else, something worse? He had been working late more than usual, coming home with heavy eyes, refusing to discuss it, brushing off her concerns. He was drinking more too. Recently she’d noticed a smell of alcohol on his breath when he came home from work. She’d commented on it once; he’d said he’d bumped into an old friend and had joined him for a quick one on the way home. The next time she’d noticed, a day or two later, there was a look in his eyes that said don’t ask.