There’s no sign of any boy or anyone else I don’t recognize, so I place the pile of photos back in the drawer and think. Where else could he be hiding something? Tom doesn’t have an office or a man cave like some of the husbands we know. He relinquished any dreams of peace and quiet when Cian and Aaron arrived. But he does have stuff in the shed at the end of the garden, which I can’t go to now because it has no electricity so it will be pitch black. If I take a torch, I’m not guaranteed I wouldn’t injure myself in the chaos out there. That will have to wait until daylight.

I’m about to leave the room when I remember the old suitcase Tom has stored under the bed. It’s where he keeps important documents: insurance policies, house deeds, birth certs, passports, how to succeed in business manuals, all that stuff. Gripping the handle, I yank the heavy case out and again feel a twinge of guilt shoot across my chest.

The case is ancient; two leather straps hold it secure so I pull them open and lift the lid. Why am I doing this? This is just wrong. You’re doing it because of what you thought you saw in the photo, Sally.

But it’s not just that. For the past few months Tom has seemed distracted, worried about something. Just like the last time he was holding onto something he couldn’t tell me. Eventually he did, had to, but he was able to keep it to himself, able to carry on like he hadn’t almost ruined our lives, before eventually plucking up the courage to tell me. Is he doing the same thing now?

There are no obvious surprises in the case, no strangers’ birth certs, no pictures of extra kids.

‘Where are you, Mom?’ Amber yells, wondering why I’m not on the sofa in front of the TV.

‘Sshh.’ She’s going to wake the boys. I better shove this back under.

‘Mom, Mom.’

Now she’s at the top of the stairs. I’m about to close the case when I see a white envelope sticking out from under a pile of brown ones. I glance at the address, Tom Cooper c/o 12 Sycamore Gardens, then quickly fasten the lid. Probably something to do with one of his clients in work.

Amber walks into the room? ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m… I’m looking for something.’

‘What?’

Think quick, Sally! ‘Oh… just one of my earrings, you know the ones with the little gold trinket dangling from the green stone.’

Amber looks down at the dressing table at her side and lifts the earrings in her hand.

‘These?’

‘Gosh, I must be going blind.’ Pulling myself upright, I walk over and take the earrings from her hand.

‘Did you get the tan?’