‘The boys and Madeline have gone to the spa. Toby said you were so sound asleep he couldn’t wake you, so I persuaded the three of them to have their treatments and a swim. I said you’d feel doubly bad if you thought they’d missed out.’

I can’t imagine them all relaxing in the spa – swimming and enjoying themselves. It doesn’t feel right. Not when Dina is dead.

Dina!

Toby killed her! They were having an affair. I let out a low moan.

‘What wrong?’ Celia asks. ‘Are you okay, Zoe?’

I don’t know what to say to her. I need her to leave. She’s the last person I want to talk to about this. About her son. ‘Celia…’

She holds a finger up, bidding me to wait a moment while she finishes doing whatever she’s doing on the phone.

‘Celia, I don’t feel well.’

‘Just breathe, Zoe.’

‘I… I just need to be on my own for a while. Catch up on my sleep if that’s okay…’

She finally puts her phone down and looks up. ‘Your breathing sounds a bit strange.’

‘I’m fine, just a bit dizzy.’ But I can hear and feel my breaths coming in laboured bursts.

‘Hmm, it sounds like you might be having a panic attack.’

‘No, I’m okay, honestly.’ But actually, I’m having real difficulty breathing and my fingers and toes are tingling. I pull at the neck of my jumper and try to take a deep breath, but nothing seems to be going into my lungs.

‘Believe me, it’s a panic attack,’ Celia says sagely. ‘I’ve seen enough of them in my time. It’s nothing to worry about.’ That’s easy for her to say. She uses the light on her phone to guide her as she walks the short distance to my bedside table, where she switches on the side light. I wince against the sudden brightness. ‘There, that’s better. I can get a proper look at you now.’

The rate of my breathing accelerates, but each inhalation feels shallow and useless.

She gazes down at me critically. ‘Are you able to stand up?’

‘I… I don’t know. I’d rather stay here. I feel too shaky to move.’ Why am I so exhausted? ‘Honestly, Celia, I’ll be fine. You should join the others.’

‘Nonsense. Come on,’ she says brightly, ‘up you get.’ She takes hold of my legs and swings them around so they’re off the bed. Then she sits and puts an arm around me, heaving me up. But my legs are unsteady, and my bones feel too soft to support my weight. ‘Let’s get you into that armchair.’

I glance over to see that one of the leaf-print armchairs that was previously by the window has been placed nearer to the bed. ‘Why can’t I just stay in bed?’