Dan gets in from the gym and heads straight to the fridge. His top has a V of sweat from his neck to his belly button and there’s still a sheen across his forehead. It’s only when he turns around, protein shaker bottle in hand, that he notices the wooden board across the pane of glass.

‘What happened?’ he asks.

I’m on the other side of the room, sitting on the sofa, half-watching TV but really refreshing the news sites. There have been no hit-and-run reports but also no updates on Tom Leonard. The hotel worker is still missing.

I also had a good nosey at Natasha’s Instagram feed. She went to a local pub after work, where she had some sort of salad. It was both #yummy and #scrummy apparently.

‘I’m not sure,’ I reply. ‘We might have had a break-in.’

Dan gawps at the door and then me. ‘How do you mean, “might”?’

‘When I got in, there was glass on the floor and the back door was unlocked. It doesn’t look as if anything’s been taken. I called the police but there was no one available to come out.’

‘Did you say there’d been a break-in?’

‘What do you think I said?’

Dan blinks away the remark and I suspect he knows I’m not in the mood for this. He swishes his vest, blowing a bit of air onto his saturated chest. I never know if he’s going to shower at the gym or wait until he gets home. There’s seemingly no pattern to his behaviour. He drops his gym fob into the kitchen drawer while still examining the board I’ve nailed across the window in the back-door frame. We actually have a his and hers membership. It was something he talked me into last Christmas when there was some sort of joint offer on. It ended up being our gift to each other, which saved the usual lack of imagination we show when buying gifts. I almost never use the membership he bought for me, but he’s at least getting good use from his. Every time he says he’s going to the gym, I think I can sense that small accusatory tone that I’m not doing the same. I’m probably imagining it. I don’t know any more.

‘Did you come home for lunch?’ I ask.

He does sometimes – our house is only ten minutes’ drive from the school – but Dan shakes his head. ‘I didn’t leave the school until after five,’ he replies.

‘I think the emergency money is gone,’ I say.

Dan reopens the drawer and swishes a few things around. It’s natural, I suppose, but it’s still annoying. As if I could be mistaken about such an obvious thing. He does this a lot, probably without even thinking about it. He’ll ask if I’ve seen the weather forecast for the following day and then, after I tell him what it is, I’ll find him checking it anyway. He’ll ask if I’ve emptied the dryer and then look inside to make sure I’ve not forgotten anything. And so on. That’s him – or at least it’s how he is now. He never used to be like this.

‘Someone broke in and stole the money…?’ Dan sounds unsure.

‘I guess so. It could be Liv – we’ll have to ask her. If they did take that money, there’s nothing else missing. I don’t know what to think.’

He nods along, apparently agreeing.

‘Did you see my work pass earlier?’ I ask.

‘Was it in the drawer?’

I deserve that, of course.

‘No,’ I reply.

‘I’ve not seen it other than that.’

He sounds breezy, as if it’s not something that would concern him, and then he nods at the back door.

‘It was probably kids with a football, something like that.’

‘Where’s the ball?’

‘Perhaps they came into the garden and retrieved it?’

‘What about the emergency money?’

A shrug. ‘If someone broke in, why wouldn’t they take the telly? Or the iPad?’

I can’t answer that because he’s only querying the things I’ve asked myself. None of what’s happened in the past day makes much sense.

Dan wiggles the board I’ve nailed to the door and tuts. Without another word, he hurries into the garage and then he’s back with a hammer and more nails. I sit and watch as he first tugs out the nails I’d hammered in and then bashes in a dozen or so of his own. He wipes his brow with his forearm, flashing the newly rediscovered muscles in his arms and shoulders. When he’s done, he rocks the board back and forth once more, making sure it’s firmly in place. I can’t see any difference between his handiwork and mine but it’s not worth arguing.

I’m not sure how our relationship got to this point because, as I watch him, I feel little other than hatred. It’s a strong word; a guttural, destructive emotion – but it’s hard to force away the rage.

‘We’ll have to get someone in to replace the glass,’ Dan says.

‘There’s a glazier coming in the morning. I’ve already texted Graham to say I’m going to be late. I’ll wait in for him.’

Dan bites his lip and all he manages is an, ‘Oh’. There’s nothing like ‘good work’, or ‘thank you’. He has more praise for his students than he ever does for me.

When he’s done putting the hammer away, Dan heads upstairs and then I hear the pipes starting to rattle as he showers. Ours is one of those houses in which everything constantly needs upgrading. We had it rewired a few years ago after Dan decided we were living in a fire hazard. He’d seen some sort of public service film at school and that was that. The plumbing system probably needs replacing as well. Sometimes, when the shower first starts up, it feels as if we’re living through an earthquake. I can even predict when one pop will be replaced by a creak or a whine. It’s like living in the middle of an orchestra who’ve never played with one another.

I find myself searching for Tom Leonard again but there are no apparent updates. I try Thomas Leonard as well, plus the place name. His name is listed on various athletic pages and then I find out he’s a county-level runner. There’s an interview with a local paper where he talks about entering the national championships. I find a photograph of him with his mother at the finishing line of an event, with a medal around his neck.

In the end, I have to click away but I can’t help thinking how different Tyler’s disappearance would be covered, if at all? If his father even bothered to report him gone? He’s known to the police, so perhaps they wouldn’t consider it anything unusual. I still expect him to be back when his money runs out.

I make another quick check on Natasha. She’s got more than a hundred likes for the photo of her salad. On Facebook, she says she’s settled on the sofa for the night with her dog, some wine and a week’s worth of recorded EastEnders episodes.

I’m obsessed, I know.

When Dan returns downstairs, he potters around the kitchen, making himself some tea with a cold rotisserie chicken. He eats chicken almost every night, to the point where it’s never worth asking him what he might want to eat, even when I’m willing to cook for everyone.

He finds his own spot on the second sofa, eating off his lap while thumbing at his phone. We continue our separate lives in the same space, existing in the solemn silence of this godforsaken room.

I go back to looking at Natasha’s social media stream again, wondering what she’s up to. There’s nothing since the sofa update.

Dan eventually breaks the awkwardness – or perhaps enhances it – after washing up his plate. He sits back in his spot and I feel him watching me.

‘Did you see Liv earlier?’ he asks.

I suspect he knows the answer. She’d have texted him. ‘She was getting in as I was going out,’ I say.

‘How did it go?’

‘All right.’

He continues to watch and it’s the sheer certainty of his gaze that infuriates me now. I’m certain Olivia texted him after our showdown this morning, so he already knows what happened – and yet he wants to hear it from me.

‘Don’t say it,’ I add, keeping my tone calm and level.

‘Say what?’

‘I know what you’re thinking – “let her be” and all that – but…’

I tail off, not sure how to finish the sentence. We’ve had this same argument for years.

‘What did you argue about?’ he asks.

I sigh: ‘Tyler’s missing – and Olivia blames me.’

‘How come?’

‘We fell out about money the other night. I told Liv I wasn’t going to give her any if she was going to pass it straight on to Tyler. He ran off and that was the last anyone saw of him.’

‘You told her that, or you told him that.’

I glance away from him, trying not to squirm. ‘A bit of both.’

Dan screws his lips together and presses the fingers from both hands into a diamond shape. He’s like a counsellor or something, pensive and too damned smart.

‘You have to let her make her own mistakes,’ he says.

I let him stew for a moment, wondering if he’ll add something. He doesn’t. He waits it out.

‘Is that what you do at school?’ I reply.

I’m hoping for a reaction but he’s unerringly calm.

‘The students at school are younger – but, yes, to a degree, we do try to let them make their own errors.’

I don’t know enough about that to argue back – and we both know the truth anyway. I don’t want Olivia to make the same mistakes I did. I don’t want her to waste years fawning over someone with no job and no prospects, who spends all day lying around smoking weed.

I say nothing and Dan opens his hands wide.

‘Stop doing that,’ I snap.

‘Doing what?’

‘I’m not one of your students.’

Dan does this thing sometimes where he tilts his head to the side, narrows his eyes to a squint, and then snaps his neck back again. It’s dismissive and makes me wither pathetically.

From nowhere, there’s a tiny stab in my chest. I run my fingers across the pain, which makes it sting even more. I broke my ribs a long time ago and there are times when, regardless of what the X-rays say, I’m not sure it’s completely healed.

Dan finally turns away, focusing back on his phone. ‘So where is Tyler?’

‘I told you – he’s missing.’

‘Does Liv have any idea where he might be?’

‘If she did, I don’t think she’d be so upset at him being gone.’

Dan lets it lie, perhaps sensing that I’m ready for a full-on row if that’s what he wants. We sit in awkward silence for a bit: each of us on our phones. I’m not even doing anything, simply avoiding having to talk to my husband.

‘I saw him earlier, by the way…’

Dan speaks airily, as if it’s unimportant. At first, I think he means Tyler – but then the reality sinks in.

‘Jason?’ I reply.

‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘He was walking past when I was leaving the house this morning.’

I continue staring at my phone’s screen, not wanting to get into this. I know Jason and I will run into one another sooner or later but I didn’t expect that he’d be outside the house.

‘He walked past twice,’ Dan adds. ‘I parked along the street and watched. He got to the corner and then came back.’

‘I didn’t know,’ I say quietly. ‘I knew he was due to be paroled last week; I didn’t know he’d be back here…’

There’s a silence and it feels like I’m being accused of something, as if I’m sitting in a dock while a smart lawyer waits on an answer. I can’t stop myself from filling it.

‘How did you even recognise him?’ I ask. ‘It’s been twenty-odd years.’

‘He hasn’t changed that much.’

There’s a tension in the room that’s so thick I can feel the tightness of breath returning once more. Dan is flexing his arm muscles, perhaps on purpose but probably not. He can’t help himself.

I push myself up from the sofa and tell him I’m going out.