‘Look,’ George says firmly. I slip my hand into his. Grateful he, at least, is on my side. ‘Can you tell us where he’s living, put Leah’s mind at rest that he’s not in the area?’ His questions shatter the faith I had that at least my husband would believe me. I can tell by the way Carly has shifted nervously in her seat since we got here – avoiding eye contact – that I haven’t convinced her either.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t share that with you,’ we are told.

Carly has driven my car home, so she can pick hers up and collect Archie from nursery. George is taking me to work. I hadn’t wanted to go. The thought that he is out there – that he knows my address – makes my stomach spasm with nerves, but PC Godley’s voice echoes loudly in my mind: what the medical professionals recommended for you. I was nearly sectioned. If it wasn’t for George and Francesca fighting my corner, I probably would have been. It seemed awful enough at the time, but then I didn’t have as much to lose. I didn’t have Archie. If creating the illusion of a semblance of normality is what I need to do to keep my life together – my family together – then I will. But I did see him. I know I did.

Heart FM pelts out cheesy hits but I’m only half-listening until I hear a song so familiar my heart skips a beat.

‘5, 6, 7, 8,’ and it’s not just a reminder; it seems like a message from Marie. But what?

George pulls up outside my office and cuts the engine. The radio is off but the song carries on playing in my head.

‘I think it’s the right thing for you to be at work. To take your mind off everything.’

I don’t answer. In my mind I’m singing and dancing, one of the Sinclair Sisters when we were free. When we were happy.

George sighs before he gets out of the car. We walk into my office together.

‘Hi.’ Tash’s smile freezes and then slips when I don’t return it. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’ I try to kiss George goodbye but he turns his head so my lips connect to his cheek rather than his lips.

I head towards my desk, wondering what I’ll tell Tash, if anything – I know she’ll worry. She’s my closest friend, my only friend in the world. I was the youngest here until she joined us four days a week. At the Christmas party we had crossed the line between colleagues and friends after weeks of making small talk. We’d had watched – with mutual repulsion – as Barry from accounts sucked the face off Janet in sales.

‘There must be a huge increase in births in the autumn after all the drunken office hook-ups the winter before,’ Tash had shouted over Kylie Minogue wishing she was lucky. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than having something drooling at your tits.’ She shuddered.