‘Can I have a cup of tea, Mum? I’m freezing.’

And just like that, the moment passed. Catherine surprised herself by letting it.

Later, when Catherine was preparing dinner, she sent Honor into the garden to break the ice on the bird bath. As she peeled potatoes, her gaze landed on her daughter’s phone. She had always impressed upon Honor the price of ownership was allowing Catherine to check it at any time.

She washed her hands and dried them on a tea towel. The phone felt warm and she wondered what secrets it held. Before she could find out, Honor was opening the back door into the kitchen, smelling of cold, her cheeks pink. Catherine slid the phone back onto the worktop. Benefit of the doubt.

‘It’s still snowing and I slipped on the steps,’ said Honor, rubbing her hip. A crust of ice decorated her gloves and the back of her coat.

‘Give them to me,’ said Catherine. ‘I’ll pop them in the airing cupboard to dry.’ She was rewarded with a smile and a fierce hug. She hugged her daughter back, breathing in the smell of her apple shampoo, enjoying their closeness, and decided she’d been too suspicious. Punctuality had never been Honor’s strong point. She’d been late to school, that was all.

As she stood on the upstairs landing, she heard Honor go into the sitting room and switch on the television. She pictured her daughter curled on the sofa, a blanket across her knees.

The sky was darkening, light bleeding from the day. Out of the window, she watched a street lamp come on, a waterfall of snow captured in its muted colours. The rich smell of casserole filled the house and Christmas was on its way. Catherine was struck by a pang of contentment, despite the morning’s events.

She laid her daughter’s gloves across the boiler and found a hanger for her coat. She slipped a hand into its pocket, seeking out other damp belongings that might need drying. Her fingers closed around a scrap of paper.

She scanned it. Closed her eyes. Read it again.

A bus ticket to Halstead, a town about nine miles away. Bought at 8.47 a.m. that morning. A child’s return.

Thank you for your message. I didn’t expect you to reply so quickly (or at all) but I’m so glad you did. You asked what prompted me to get in touch. Your name, I think. It’s been such a long time since I’ve heard it – so pretty, but unusual, wouldn’t you say? – and it reminded me of another time in my life. A dark and painful time, if I’m being honest.