Matt’s desk was also covered in paper and books that Helen had never seen him read. She pushed aside a pile of papers and picked up a couple of paperbacks sitting partially hidden underneath. The top book she recognised with a jolt. It was one of her earlier novels. She had no idea he had read it. He never mentioned her other career as a writer. The second paperback was a gothic horror story that Helen knew well, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and she was almost more surprised at that. She didn’t think he would be interested in something so classic. A torn piece of paper was wedged between the pages like a bookmark. On it was a handwritten message in a curly, feminine script.

I think you’ll like this one. D x

Helen closed the book and put it on top of the papers she had shuffled together, feeling a little piqued that he had never asked her for book recommendations or opened a discussion with her about anything bookish. She was a published writer and owner of a bookshop, after all, not to mention his stepmother.

From the corner of her eye she noticed the top drawer of his desk was open slightly, a magazine trapped in it. She slid the drawer open. Resting on the top of the magazine was a small metal tin. She opened the lid and the faint scent of weed was released. She rolled her eyes. How stereotypical of him. She moved the magazine aside and felt the hairs on her arms rise as cold washed over her.

It was a pile of white envelopes, just like the one that had contained the photograph.

Surely not.

No, there were plenty of other explanations, not least the fact that these envelopes could be bought in any newsagents or stationers.

She scanned the desk again. Was there anything on it with his handwriting? Something she could compare the capital letters on the envelope to?

No. Stop it, Helen.

It was just a coincidence. Just like the bicycle bell. A paranoid mind connecting dots that weren’t there. The truth was that what happened all those years ago had never really gone away. It had just been nipping at her heels for the last thirty years and Helen’s brain was now making connections that didn’t belong together.

She pushed the drawer shut and exhaled, trying to shake it off. She began to strip the duvet cover and sheet from his bed. She would leave clean sheets out and ask Pauline to change them for her. Something under his pillow was weighing down the sheet. She lifted the pillow. Matt’s laptop was pushed underneath it.

She opened the lid. A password request popped up, so she slammed it shut and placed it on the desk before carrying on with the sheets. But her eyes keep straying over to the laptop.