Of course, she had felt like a failure. Because, to an extent, she was a failure. Her old boss had made that very clear when she handed in her notice, with a sideways comment about how he was sick of losing his staff to the ‘other side’. But she had to admit, every day when she walked the ten minutes to school and taught a small class of girls who adored her and hung on her every word, she felt grateful to Rav for pretending that it was him who needed her to change jobs.

‘Right, that’s just about everything. Thank you for today. We’re looking forward to tomorrow – let’s make this a brilliant term.’ No one had been listening to the deputy head, who seemed to think that motivational speaking was part of her job description, but by her tone it was clear that they were free to go. Chloe pulled her jumper on, picked up her handbag and took a look at her phone. A message from Rav flashed up.

‘When will you be home?’

He was back, then. She had pretended that she wanted to go and pick him up from the airport, that the inset day had prevented her from seeing him and that she was upset about it. But, in reality, she had never really understood the idea of driving all the way to the airport to pick someone up, rather than them just getting a cab.

She looked at the message again. The bluntness of it surprised her – he was a chirpy texter usually, and he always put at least three kisses. She typed her reply with one hand. ‘In about half an hour. Everything okay? Xx.’

There were three dots to indicate that Rav was typing, but no message came. She tried to smooth the feeling that was starting to twist in her gut. Something about this didn’t feel right.

She picked up various books from her desk, said the goodbyes she needed to say, then walked home more quickly than usual, her new shoes clicking on the pavement. She always bought new shoes at the start of term, as if she were a child who had outgrown her previous pair over the summer holidays.

From the moment she opened the front door to their building Chloe knew something was off. It smelled different. Sounded different. Felt different. The internal door to the flat wasn’t locked. It wasn’t even closed. There was a millimetre of light coming between the door frame and the door.

‘Hello?’ she called before she stepped over the threshold. Every single nerve ending in her body was writhing, telling her that something was wrong, that she shouldn’t go inside. ‘Hello?’

Footsteps on the fake wooden floorboards. Standing in the kitchen, a glass of wine in his hands, shirtsleeves pushed up his perfect forearms, was Max.

25

Then