Her husband had barely spoken to her in the last few hours. In bed, in the navy darkness of early morning, she had moved towards him and placed an arm around his waist, but he hadn’t turned to her like he usually did. His body had tensed, as if he was considering something, and hope had taken flight inside her, but then he had rolled away and headed into the shower.

In the tangle of duvet, her cheeks had flushed. Humiliation, her oldest friend. She placed a hand on the sheet. Still warm. The irony did not escape her when he had been so cold.

It hadn’t always been that way. Up until a couple of weeks ago, they’d had sex on a regular basis, and spent a handful of evenings a month at gigs or restaurants in the surrounding towns. On the Wednesday before last, he’d booked a babysitter and left work early to surprise her. She remembered it quite clearly because she’d been on the telephone to Eliza when he’d appeared in their bedroom, carrying half a dozen bird of paradise flowers, and made her jump. He’d thrust them at her and, across their orange beak-like petals, had given her a funny sort of smile. She’d hung up quickly and kissed him hello.

For the rest of the evening, he’d been very quiet and she’d assumed there were problems at work. But his mood hadn’t lifted, and while she had caught glimpses of his natural affability during his interactions with Honor, he had remained subdued. A tiny part of her wondered if he had lost his job but was pretending to go to the office every day. She had heard stories about men who did things like that.

In the kitchen, she chopped onions, carrots and celery for a soup she was making for lunch. Nutritious and hearty food. Another way to show love for her family. She could hear Honor moving around upstairs, and she imagined her daughter in slippers and dressing gown, frowsy-haired and heavy-eyed.

Honor was too old to build a snowman, but perhaps they could go sledging together and have a snowball fight. Hot chocolate by the wood burner. Biscuits fresh from the oven, spiced with ginger and cinnamon. Watch a film, bundled under blankets.

A perfect kind of day.

She did not allow herself to dwell on the truth that reality rarely lived up to the fantasies of her imagination. Or that distractions were temporary. For a while, at least, she could pretend that Honor was still her sweet-faced girl and Shannon Carter nothing more than a smudged-out face from the past.

The heating was on but the air vibrated with cold. The snow on the trees was thick and ice-blue in the morning light. The village would hunker down today, trying to stay warm, wrapped in silence. That’s why Catherine looked up, surprised, at the low thrum of an engine.