The recent sleep-deprived nights and busy days had exhausted me, but there was enough adrenaline whizzing through my bloodstream to keep my senses wide awake.

Daniel had lit a fire in the living room and switched on the artfully placed table-lamps rather than the main overhead light.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d prefer wine or tea?’ he asked, rising to his feet as I walked in.

I checked the time on the clock above the fireplace. Just after eight. ‘Wine?’

‘Perfect.’ He picked up a full glass from the sideboard and handed it to me.

‘Sure enough, then?’

Daniel smiled. ‘I lied. I was completely sure, I just thought you might be offended if I told you.’

‘Well, now I’m doubly offended that you must think there’s something wrong with me wanting a glass of wine to end a virtually perfect day.’

‘I’m going to assume you mean, “thank you for being so thoughtful and anticipating how much I would appreciate a glass of much-nicer-than-our-usual-supermarket wine, you are virtually the most incredible, considerate man I’ve ever met”.’

‘Assume away.’ I took a sip. It was indeed nicer than usual, so I took another one.

‘A virtually perfect day?’ Daniel’s voice had dropped to that soft rumble that caused my stomach to flip over. Instead of picking up his own glass, he took mine and placed it back on the sideboard, then stepped right up close to me and took hold of my hand. ‘Where did I mess up?’

I managed to stifle my nervous giggle into a smile. ‘I cooked breakfast for a full house before you even got up. And as much as I’m used to it, a cursory two second goodbye from my parents still brings back painful memories.’ I lifted our clasped hands and gently bumped them on his chest. ‘The rest of it was perfect.’

‘So there’s nothing I can do to make it any better?’ His mouth was so close to mine I could practically taste the trace of wine on his breath.

‘How about you stop talking, and we’ll see if we can figure it out?’

Being curled up on the sofa with Daniel was virtually perfect. All the times I’d imagined how well I would fit tucked up against his chest were now proven to be right. We sipped our sophisticated wine and kissed and chatted, and it was lovelier than I could have dreamed of.

I say virtually perfect, because as beautiful as all this felt, my traitorous brain couldn’t stop thinking. It kept rewinding to the conversations I’d had with my family about the mystery caller. I knew it was one of the Alamis. Who else would call the Tufted Duck, several times, pretending to be a school friend?

Now I was home, awareness of the phone hidden in my bedroom above, unchecked for a whole three days, loomed like a sinister shadow over my head. The more I tried to ignore it, and enjoy the rest of the evening – it wasn’t as though checking it now or later on was going to change anything – the greater the shadow grew.