She stood on the steps in the sun, wondering where he could be, then went back inside. She heard a car start up, out on the road, but when she turned, saw nothing.

‘Dan!’

She left the door open and the book and snakeskin on the desk, and went through to look out into the garden. She rang him. She couldn’t hear ringing. She should have been able to hear it, if he was nearby. She tried again, holding her phone against her leg, to muffle it, but there was only silence. The sun was beating into the dining room through the closed window. There were dead flies on the floor.

‘Dan?’ she said to his voicemail. ‘Where are you?’

She reached up to struggle with the stiff bolts on the garden door, bending, with her back to the room, not knowing why she felt such urgency. The door opened, and she went out into the garden and called again, her voice strange in the quiet.

The garden lay in the heavy heat, the birds were resting or had gone. The chestnut garden furniture looked sticky in the sun. Bea felt the silence thicken around her, and, in the silence, danger. It pressed and quivered. She looked behind her.

‘Dan!’ she called, but quietly.

She sensed somebody who wasn’t Dan had heard. She went back into the house. Russ was standing in the hall. The front door was wide open. He had a grey T-shirt with a big shape on the front, like a dark sun. He was carrying a tyre iron. It was long, and had a blue curved handle. He looked taller.

‘Hey,’ he said, smiling, as if they were friends. ‘Car broke down.’

They stood looking at one another. He waited for her to speak. The only difference from the night before was a certain hurry in him, a slight sweat. He was just a little out of breath.

‘Really?’ she said, her own voice distant in her ear. ‘Where’s Dan?’

‘Could I use your phone?’

Her eyes flickered, trying to take in the periphery. They were alone. He was nearer the desk than she was.

‘Sure. It’s there. On the desk.’

‘No,’ said Russ. ‘I mean your phone.’

Her heart began to race, unevenly, as if it were starting up; it hurt her chest.

‘Why do you need mine?’

He could see her phone in her hand. It was too late to put it behind her back.

‘Use that one,’ she said, the breath in her voice making it small. ‘The one on the desk? It’s better.’

Her mouth around the words was clumsy, like a foreign language, like being anaesthetised.

He smiled again. ‘Nah, I’d like to use yours.’

He started towards her. If she ran, it would be the end. She held her phone out to him, trying not to flinch when his fingers touched her palm. He took it.

‘See?’ he said.