Monday morning can’t come quick enough, and I am glad that Rav has left by the time the baby wakes me. I feel odd about the text on his phone from Naomi, not sure what they could have to discuss without me – they are friends, but not close. Not close enough to meet without me being there. Rav’s name flashes up on my phone as I strip my clothes off in the bathroom, steam from the running shower blurring my reflection in the mirror, and I let it ring out before stepping under the water, ignoring the beep that tells me he’s left a voicemail. I have decided to keep Mina home today, to let her bunk off preschool. As much as the house is unsettling, the idea of walking through the village to school, having to face Tara and Karen after the baby group on Friday is all too overwhelming, giving flight to panicky flutters in my chest like a thousand tiny butterflies. I have an indescribable itch to find out more about the house, telling myself that if I can just find out more then maybe it will put my mind at ease. There is a tiny bookshop on the other side of the village, with a whole display dedicated to local authors. If I time it right, I can get over there and see if they have any books that feature the cottage, without bumping into Tara or Karen. I shower quickly, all too aware that Mina is downstairs, albeit glued to CBeebies again, and dress in jeans and a clean T-shirt, taking a moment to brush my hair and twist it up into a clip before I snatch up my phone, listening to the voicemail Rav has left.

‘Hey, Al, you’re probably on the way to preschool.’ I feel a tiny pang of guilt that I squash down into nothing. ‘Just wanted to tell you that I might be late again tonight. Something has come up with the case. I won’t bore you with the details. Go on and eat without me, I’ve no idea what time I’ll make it back.’ I dither in the entrance to the living room, watching Mina as she plays with the Indian doll Rav’s mum gave her, the television chattering away to itself in the background, debating whether to call Rav back or not. He won’t answer even if I do call him; it’ll just go to voicemail. There is a clanging chime from the old-fashioned doorbell that Rav has installed, and I tuck my phone into my pocket.