Toby is sitting by the window drinking coffee, already dressed in jeans, a shirt and V-neck jumper. He must have decided to skip his shower. He glances up as I enter the room. He doesn’t quite smile but manages to give me a sympathetic look. ‘Snow,’ he says. The curtains are open. Through the window lies a world of white – the grounds, the sky, the branches of the trees, the ledges of the mullioned windows, all blanketed with thick snow. I briefly think of the kids, and how excited they’ll be to wake up to this. My stomach heaves.

‘What’s the time?’ I croak.

‘Almost nine.’

‘What am I going to do?’ I wail, then bite my lip, telling myself not to lose it.

‘You’re not going to do anything.’ He holds out his arm. ‘Here, come and sit. I’ll make you a coffee.’

‘I don’t want coffee.’ That’s a lie. I’d love a coffee.

‘I’m going to make you one anyway.’

‘Okay. I’ll get dressed.’

I notice my suitcase has been placed on a bench by the wardrobe, the lid propped open. Obviously my husband’s handiwork. I take out the first suitable clothes that come to hand – socks, pants, a bra, a camisole, dark blue skinny jeans and an oversized cream jumper. I quickly dry off and get dressed. Toby hands me a milky coffee and I greedily inhale the aroma, before taking a sip and burning the roof of my mouth.

‘You said I shouldn’t do anything. But how can I not?’ I stand by the window and stare down at the drive. There are several tyre tracks and footprints. A young couple are walking outside bundled up against the cold and wearing wellies. I envy them.

I turn back to face my husband. ‘While I was in the shower, I had another flashback to that day. I can remember seeing Dina… afterwards. She was…’ I let out a sob. ‘She was dead.’ My hands start shaking again and I put my drink on the windowsill, splashing coffee down the curtains in the process.

‘Hey, hey.’ Toby comes and holds me, strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head. ‘It’s a shock, I know.’

‘What am I going to do?’ I gulp down more sobs.

‘Right now, you’re not going to do anything. We’ll take it a day at a time, and we’ll get through it together.’

‘Maybe we should tell your mum.’

‘No!’ Toby tenses up, his voice ringing through the silence. He winces and relaxes his hold on me. ‘Sorry for shouting, but the last thing I want to do is bring my parents into this. They wouldn’t be able to handle it.’