‘Can you imagine, on a fine day like today, Mrs Diamond? The two of you sitting out here, having an early morning coffee, looking across the lake?’

‘It’s north-facing,’ Mike said. ‘So, no morning sunlight.’

‘Who wants morning sunlight in a bedroom?’ the agent said. ‘Not me! But of course, if that’s a concern, then you could make the upstairs space your bedroom.’ She gave them a conspiratorial look. ‘I tell you, if it was me – and I could afford a house this beautiful – I’d make that loft space my master bedroom. It would make anyone feel they were masters of the universe, just like you two truly are – I can tell!’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m so sorry, we’ll have to hurry, I have viewings of this place every twenty minutes today. It won’t be staying on the market for long, that’s for sure. Not with the shortage of quality new-build stock there is today, believe you me.’

She hurried them through the downstairs: the open-plan kitchen and family room, stacked with smart-gadgets, including the memory fridge; the dining room; the small office; the spacious hall; and then the pièce de résistance – the large, luxuriously carpeted living room with a photochromic-glass conservatory at the rear, overlooking the wide lawn running down to the lake. ‘Of course, it would be easy to fence off the lawn part way down, to make it safe for your baby.’

The Diamonds looked at each other. How does she know about the baby?

Then, profusely apologetic, she ushered them to the front door. Her next clients were due any moment. If they wished to make an offer, she most strongly advised them to do it sooner rather than later. This was the first day of viewings and this property, priced to sell, would not be hanging around on the market for long.

As she opened the door she said, ‘Mr and Mrs Diamond, I can so see you living here – in your forever home! And your baby son – what a wonderful environment for him to grow up in. But please, I urge you, don’t think about it for too long.’

As they stepped out into the bright, mid-morning sunlight, and the front door closed behind them, Mike and Julie Diamond stood on the path, with the newly turfed lawn on either side, as a car came along the road. They looked at each other. The same look.

What the fuck?

Our ‘son’?

A Mini emblazoned with the logo of RICHWARDS ESTATE AGENTS pulled up behind their parked Mercedes. A tubby, smiling man in his forties, in a flamboyant suit, clambered out and hurried across to them, holding a bunch of keys like a gaoler.

‘Mr and Mrs Diamond?’

‘Yes,’ Mike said, hesitantly.

‘Paul Jordan, I do apologize for being late – I had a viewing of another property that ran over.’ He shook hands with each of them, once again apologizing profusely. ‘You are going to love this house, I promise you. It is really quite special. On the whole of the Cold Hill Park development, this is my very favourite, by a country mile.’