A few minutes later, Niamh comes back – carrying an armful of clothes and her school bag – with Sergeant Collins. Without speaking, she climbs into the car.

‘Let’s go.’ Putting the car into reverse, I turn it around, not wanting to linger a moment longer than necessary. In the short time we’ve been away, an invisible line has been drawn between the past and the future, and we’ve crossed it. Now, the only way is forward. I can no more imagine living here than I can imagine being with Andrew. As we drive away, leaving Abingworth behind us, the realisation hits me. I’ve no desire to ever come back.

*

The next morning I drive Niamh to school, then go to my meeting with Alison Wantley. In the safety of her office, with a view onto a quiet street in the heart of Chichester, I start to tell her everything about my marriage. It’s painful. It’s also cathartic.

I walk around the town centre after, doing a bit of shopping and looking in the windows of estate agents before I drive back to the farm. For the first time in years, I feel a tentative sense of hope. I’d never loved living in Abingworth. I miss nothing about village life, nor have any desire to bump into familiar faces. None of those people really care. Even Della has made no attempt to contact me. All these years of living there and no-one will miss me, even slightly.

When I get back to the cottage, I start to tidy away the breakfast things, then go upstairs, throwing open windows, picking up Niamh’s discarded clothes on the floor of her bedroom. Underneath them, I find an envelope.

Niamh

When Dylan and Hollie fell in love, my father always knew he’d have to stop them. But he let it go on, until their hearts grew closer, their love deeper – to the point where they couldn’t live without each other. Then he went to Dylan’s room and told him. My father likes to watch people suffer.

I heard my father shout, Dylan’s cries of pain. Later, when I found out what he’d done, I knew he might as well have given Dylan a loaded gun and told him to point it at his head.

Dylan was expected to be the brilliant academic who’d have the same high-flying medical career as his father. Anything else – being the talented artist and musician he was – that was a failure in my father’s eyes. But it was never about what Dylan wanted. My father only cared about my father.