By the end of the call, Donna has found out that Eamon never takes his car to golf because he always has a pint in the club house. Last week was no different. I feel my chest constrict and I take three deep breaths to quell the rising panic. Tom lied again.

I blankly refused Donna’s suggestion that she ring the hospital about the bicycle accident pretending to be a cop looking to clarify some information. Donna didn’t push it.

Through the glass wall of Donna’s kitchen I watch her tropical plants sway across the bottom of the garden and try to make sense of what I’ve just found out. Tom needed to leave the house that day, but why, what took him away? Did the boy ring? I haven’t yet told Donna that he has already made contact with Amber because my mind is in a muddle trying to digest the truth seeping through the cracks in Tom’s lies. I need to talk to my husband, to tell him what I know and try to get him to open up to me.

I say my goodbyes, thanking Donna for listening to all my woes and head home. The unusually warm breeze for this time of the year caresses my face. I’m feeling uneasy with all the lies coming out of Tom’s mouth. If he didn’t leave to give Eamon a lift, what took him out of the house that day? It must have been something important, someone contacted him, Kenny contacted him.

Like nothing has happened, I collect the boys from their morning playschool session with a fake smile on my face and take them home. It’s important I maintain an upbeat persona when they’re in my company. Aaron in particular is very perceptive to my moods, cuddling into me whenever I’m feeling down. From the time he was a baby he seemed to nurture a sixth sense, sometimes looking at me, waiting for me to smile before his whole face would stretch with happiness.

Heading straight for the playroom when we get home, they pull the toys from the shelves. Flinging them over the floor where they believe they belong, rendering my earlier efforts at tidying invalid. At least they’re happy. Which for a brief moment makes me happy. But not for long, by the time I reach the kitchen I have fallen once again into the gloom of the unfolding nightmare.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The day passes slowly, the usual Monday chores seem so much more difficult to complete than normal. Washing clothes, vacuuming, changing the bed sheets, providing alibis and dragging the kids to Lidl, now that Tesco is a no-go area.