It was six thirty before she opened her front door and stepped into the hallway. She listened. It was an old house; if there was someone home, floorboards would creak, water would gurgle in the pipes. But the silence was telling. If Jack had come, he’d gone again without waiting to see what the police had wanted with his beloved wife. Bitterness twisted her mouth for a moment. She should be glad, shouldn’t she? It was sleep she needed, not an argument; a confrontation that would be difficult, painful and undoubtedly nasty. She knew it would come eventually; wounding words that would slice through what little self-esteem and pride she had left, but she didn’t want it now. Her heart wasn’t in a state to fight back.

What a price she was paying for those foolish moments. She checked her mobile, saw nothing from him and dashed off quick messages to Remi and Freya, making a joke about misplacing her phone and having to use one of their rejects.

Her feet feeling like lead, she trudged up the stairs to her bedroom where she undressed and climbed under the duvet. From outside, she heard a car’s engine start, another passing by with a swoosh of tyres on the rain-wet road, the high-pitched laughter of a child – everyday sounds, a reassuring lullaby to remind her that not everything had changed. She lay exhausted, willing herself to fall asleep, for temporary release from the mess she’d made.

In her dreams, turquoise eyes gleamed with malice and brought her to the edge of wakefulness each time. Finally, after tossing and turning for what felt like hours, but what a glance at her watch told her was less than one, she gave up and went downstairs. She curled up on the sofa, switched on the TV and found a romcom she knew would be candyfloss for her brain and might, if she were lucky, help her to relax.

Tucking her feet under, she tried to concentrate on the movie, but her mind had already drifted when the house phone rang, startling her. It rarely rang, their friends and acquaintances usually called their mobiles. A cold caller, she guessed, staring at it, willing it to stop.

When it did, her eyes flicked back to the movie which she had to admit was excruciatingly bad. Reaching for the remote, she channel-surfed for a few minutes, settling on the rerun of a property programme she’d watched before.

Then the phone rang again.

She stared at it, eyes wide, her heart beating a little faster, a little louder. Even when the ringing stopped, she continued to stare at it until, with a frustrated shake of her head, she reached to take the handset off the hook. Her hand was on it when it rang for the third time. Maybe it wasn’t a cold caller. They weren’t normally this persistent.