I wait at the top of the stairs and watch Olivia go into her room. I want to follow her in, read her a story and tuck her into bed like the old days but I don’t know that many happy endings nowadays. There’s a shuffling as she gets undressed and then quiet. I don’t know if she’s settled down to sleep – but I hope so. I suspect she’s on her phone, refreshing her Find Tyler page in case there’s an update.

Our room is directly ahead. Dan will be asleep and I doubt he’s stirred much since we left. He’s always been something of a heavy sleeper – all the more reason why it’s so odd he answered my phone call in the early hours of Tuesday.

I’m touching the handle to enter when I change my mind. I’m not sure what I think of him and his secrets and, though there isn’t fear at being in the same house as him, I don’t want to share a bed.

It’s not the first time I’ve slept in the spare room – we’ve had more than our share of flouncy arguments – but it’s the first time in about a year. On the last occasion, it was because Dan cleaned the kitchen counter after I’d already done it. It sounds like nothing and, to a large degree, it is. But there was something about the way he did it, the extra small circles he made with the cloth as if I wasn’t capable of doing it properly myself. I shouted, he did his usual thing of remaining calm and speaking to me reeeeeeaaaalllllly sllllllooooooowwwwwwwly – and there’s little that infuriates me more.

He knows it, of course, which is why he does it. In the end, I slept in the spare room for a night, we barely talked the next day, and then we got back to normal by living around one another.

The spare room has a double bed that’s permanently made, largely because nobody ever sleeps in here. When Olivia was younger and had her friends over for the night, they’d double and triple up across the two rooms. Before that, Dan’s mother had a night or two here while she was still alive. We had the odd friend after dinner parties back when we were trying to be sophisticated – but it’s been empty almost every night since we moved in.

I don’t bother going into our room to fetch nightclothes, instead slipping under the covers in my underwear. The mattress is softer than what I usually sleep on; the pillows harder, sheets stiffer. It’s comfortable, though; more so because I’m on my own. I close my eyes and hug the covers tight under my chin. I even say a silent prayer to a god in whom I don’t believe, hoping Tyler’s back sometime soon. At least things might start to get back to normal.

---

Dan is in the kitchen when I head downstairs in the morning. He’s in his gym kit, eating a bowl of porridge while standing at the counter. He’s reading something on his phone but glances up as I cross the living room. He says the kettle has just boiled but doesn’t mention anything about our sleeping arrangements from the previous night.

Even without separate rooms, this is our routine for the morning. One of us boils the kettle, making sure there’s enough water for both of us. Other than that, we do our own things. If either of us stops boiling the kettle, it really is the end of days.

I should ask him about the stun gun… about my keys in the fridge… about why he was still up in the early hours of Tuesday… but I don’t.

Dan asks if I heard Olivia moving around in the night and I say I didn’t. I remember nothing after my head hit the pillow. He says she was up and about through the night, going to the bathroom and back a couple of times. I say I’ll let her sleep before popping some bread into the toaster.

I notice Dan watching but his gaze instantly flickers away. He’s been off carbs for a few months now. Bread, pasta, rice and potatoes are evil, so I tend to make meals for myself and Olivia – if she wants anything – while he’ll drink protein shakes and buy rotisserie chickens.

The toaster pops just as there’s a knock at the door. Dan moves way too quickly for me this time. He mutters a sharp, ‘see you later’, and then he’s gone.

I watch through the net curtain in the living room window as he and Alice stroll along the path. Dan glances back to the house but I’m pretty sure he can’t see me. Alice is in yoga pants that are so tight, she might as well not be wearing them. I’m not sure if she is a natural blonde or if it’s bleached but she has it in a ponytail today and is bouncing on her heels athletically as she walks. She slaps him playfully on the shoulder as they get to the end of the drive, before both getting into Dan’s car. I continue watching until he’s pulled away and disappeared behind next door’s hedge.

It’s hard to resist, so I creep up the stairs quietly, avoiding number seven from the bottom because it squeaks. With the greatest of care, I nudge open Olivia’s door, standing in the frame and watching. She’s wrapped herself in the bedclothes but there’s a pillow on the floor, along with what looks like half her wardrobe. A single leg juts out at an angle, showing off a zigzagging tattoo that loops around her lower thigh. I think this is a new one. Her toenails are a shiny black, but the rest of her is cocooned in the covers, her chest rising and falling oh so slowly as she sleeps.

Olivia has never been one of those teenagers who sleeps all day. We usually see each other in the morning, even if she doesn’t say much. She seems even more vulnerable when I watch her like this.

I close the door and then, when back downstairs, check the Find Tyler Facebook page. The photo from last night is still there – but, even on the laptop with its bigger screen, it’s hard to make anything clearly. It could be Tyler but it could be pretty much anyone. There are no new comments or posts, so I close the site and then check Natasha’s page. She had a home-made fruit salad for breakfast, which is #winning.

Old habits. Hers and mine.

That done, I get ready for work.

---

Natasha went out with her boyfriend for dinner last night. I know this because she’s telling Claire in intricate detail about seemingly every moment of it. He dressed up in a suit; she popped to Tanfastic after work. He got his back waxed last weekend; she’s thinking about hair extensions. He ordered a mixed grill – a sure sign of a classy place; she had the mushroom burger. He was drinking John Smith’s; she had a ‘cheeky’ few glasses of rosé. He got up to wee three times; she lost an earring somewhere. Only a cheap one, though.

Pulling off my own ears seems something of an overreaction and I’m not sure this would count as mitigating circumstances were I to burn the entire building down in an effort to make her stop. It doesn’t sound as if Claire’s that interested. There’s the odd ‘yeah’ and ‘right’ but, other than that, it’s a one-way barrage of vacuous vapidity.

Still, I’m the one who spends my time poring over her online updates, so what does that make me?

It’s a merciful respite when Graham walks into the main office. He heads straight for me, crouching and whispering so that only I can hear. ‘I need a word.’

He stands straighter, raising an eyebrow and then heading back towards his own office. Everyone has gone silent, watching as I stand and follow. It’s rare that Graham leaves his office during the day, rarer still he comes and talks to me directly. Something’s definitely not right.

When I get to his office, he’s already behind his desk.

‘Close the door,’ he says grimly.

I do and then take the seat on the opposite side of his desk.

‘You met a potential client named Declan on Tuesday,’ he says.

‘Yes.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘Has he put in an order?’

Graham glances away towards his monitor and then rests both hands on the desk, fingers splayed. He breathes in heavily through his nose.

‘Not exactly,’ he says. ‘There’s been a complaint.’