The bed in the spare room is so comfortable that I have no idea why I didn’t start sleeping in here months or years before. I suppose it was the stigma of separate bedrooms – but it’s fantastic. I wrap myself around the pillow: one arm under, one over, then spread out and close my eyes. There are no errant limbs crossing the invisible no man’s land along the centre of the bed. No invading forces to repel. No grunts and snores in the middle of the night – or, if there are, they belong to me and nobody else cares. It’s a whole new world. Why did anyone ever decide that couples needed to sleep – actually sleep – together?

I expect to dream of Dan and Jason, of unexplained guns, of steering wheels, blood, cloudy nights and shadowed fields. It’s only when I wake up the next morning that I realise hours have passed. My arm is dead from barely moving but the fuzz has cleared from my thoughts and I finally feel alert.

I shower, dress and head downstairs. Dan is on the sofa and snaps the laptop lid closed as I cross to the kitchen. Not much point in asking what he was looking at.

‘I can move out in two weeks,’ he says.

His words stop me dead, still a pace or two from the kettle.

‘Sorry?’

‘Two weeks,’ he repeats. ‘I got an email from the landlord overnight. The old tenants are moving out early because they’re buying a place. One minute the sale was on, then it was off, now it’s back on again. You know what these things can be like: nothing happens for months and then it’s all go.’

I quickly recompose myself, or attempt to give that impression at least. I touch the side of the kettle and it’s warm, so I start to make myself a cup of tea.

‘That’s a bit quicker than we thought,’ I say.

‘True – but that’s not a problem, is it?’

‘No, but I suppose we’ve not really talked everything through in regards to money and the house…’

Dan waits as I fill the mug with water, drop a teabag in and then give it a swish and a squeeze with a spoon. Traditionalists would blow a gasket at the spoon usage.

I perch on the second sofa, cradling the mug for warmth. After all the talking, it finally feels as if this is happening.

‘I’d hope we can agree that it’s better to do this without lawyers,’ Dan says. ‘The minute we involve them, any money will get soaked up. We’re both adults, after all.’

The way he says it makes it sound like an implication that he’s the adult and his plan is the grown-up thing to do. Anything else would be childish.

I let it go.

‘That sounds like a good place to start,’ I reply.

‘We’ve each got our own cars, so no reason to change anything about that…’

He pauses for a moment but I agree.

When it’s clear I’m fine with the suggestion, he asks if there’s anything in particular that I want.

I look around the room, taking in the television, the phone docks, the appliances in the kitchen. I’d not thought of it much before but it’s quickly apparent that this is all just stuff. In the end, none of it matters. Possessions can be replaced and it’s people who matter.

‘Olivia’s box,’ I reply. ‘That’s all.’

He nods. There’s a small plastic crate under our bed that is a chronicle of Olivia’s life. It has a couple of her baby teeth, for which the tooth fairy gave her a pound a piece. Inflation these days. There is some of her hair, photos, school reports, paintings, handprints from when she was a baby. I kept her first pair of shoes, which are small enough to wear as finger-warmers. She wrote a couple of letters to Santa when she was young that I still have; another to Jesus. Olivia was sporty when she was little – and she was part of the first-ever girl’s football team at her school. I’ve got the team photo and a report from the local paper. She was third in a handwriting competition and I have her entry for that. There are swimming certificates, running certificates, computer proficiency test results – and so many more odds and ends.

When things have been bad between Olivia and I, when we’ve not spoken for days, I’ll go through the box and remind myself of better times.

‘I’d never want to take that from you,’ Dan replies. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing else?’

‘Not really. What about you? Is there anything else you particularly want?’

‘The iPad.’

‘Take it.’

‘Oh.’

He reels back a little, perhaps surprised there’s no argument.

‘I don’t need any furniture,’ he says. ‘Not yet anyway. The flat is fully furnished. Perhaps in six months or so, depending on how things go. IKEA’s cheap enough, so I can go there if need be. It’s not like we’ve ever done extravagant.’

I more or less knew that already, so say nothing.

Dan is in his running gear but it doesn’t work with the way a deputy headteacher sits. He has his knees crossed and swaps them so they’re crossed the other way. It all looks a bit odd, like a drunken giraffe trying to perch on the floor. It’s like he has too many limbs. He shuffles uncomfortably before zeroing his attention in on me.

‘I suppose the biggest issue is the house…’

‘Right.’

‘I know you’d rather stay here – and obviously that’s good for Liv. But I guess she won’t be living here forever. After that, it’s a big place for one person…’

‘I don’t want to sell it.’

He nods officiously, expecting this. ‘I was thinking we could have it valued and then split the total. Obviously, some of our joint savings will cover whatever’s owed.’

‘You want to take all of our savings?’

I want him to turn away, to feel awkward, but he doesn’t. He continues to stare. ‘Only to offset part of the house’s value.’

‘But there’s no way my half of our savings is going to cover half the value of the house. I’ll end up owing you tens of thousands.’

He still won’t relent and turn away. ‘We could remortgage. Or you could remortgage. We’ll put the house into your name, get the lump sum to pay me off and then the house is all yours.’

It sounds so matter-of-fact. Not a discussion but a decision made. I realise it is precisely that. He’s thought all this through without me and now he’s presenting it.

He’s right, of course. There’s no easy way out of this. If I want to continue living here, I’m going to have to buy his share. I don’t have the money for that, so I’ll have to remortgage. I’ll be back at the place I was years ago – working month to month to pay off a house. By the time that’s done, I’ll be ready to retire. Some life, huh?

‘What about Olivia?’ I ask.

‘She can continue to live here, obviously.’

‘I mean as an inheritance. If we’re her parents, wouldn’t we want to leave her the house eventually? If it’s all mine, then what are you contributing?’

He bites his lip, uncrosses his knees and pushes back onto the sofa. It’s so satisfying to have stumped him – although I do wonder how our daughter’s future has completely escaped him.

‘Perhaps we can figure something out once we have a valuation,’ he says.

‘Figure what out?’

‘I don’t know… perhaps split the house three ways. I’ll gift you Olivia’s share, and then you buy out my share.’

‘You don’t need to gift me anything. She’s our daughter. You’re doing this for her.’

He chews on the inside of his mouth and it feels like we’re about to argue. He’ll say I know what he meant, I’ll say I know exactly what he meant. He’ll ask what I mean by that. I’ll reply that he always puts himself ahead of anyone else, including our daughter. And then it’ll explode. He’ll storm out, I’ll sit and stew. We won’t talk tonight or tomorrow – and then, at some point next week, we’ll start again with trying to figure it all out. We’ve been in similar positions so many times before.

Dan pushes himself up from the sofa and smooths down his vest. ‘I’ve got to go,’ he says. ‘I’ll be at the gym for a couple of hours, then I’m doing lunch. I’ll be back this afternoon. We can talk about this again later or tomorrow. I’ll have a think and you can do the same. Perhaps we’ll come up with a better idea? I’m not adverse to anything.’

He doesn’t elaborate on what ‘doing lunch’ means. On whether he’s by himself, or with someone else. And, if he’s with someone, then who. I hate the way he says it anyway. You don’t ‘do’ lunch, you eat lunch.

It’s not lunch that’s the real problem, of course. I’m going to be in someone’s debt for decades – if not Dan’s then the bank’s. I’m stuck. Not only that, he’s right: Olivia will be leaving soon and I’ll be alone. Perhaps I should let the house be sold. I can hold on until Olivia’s found somewhere of her own, then we can sell and split the money. I’ll use my half to have a midlife crisis. I can travel and explore and… stop imagining such fantasy nonsense.

I won’t do any of that.

Dan’s already in the hall when I call him back from the living room. He pokes his head around the door frame, surprised at the interruption to his routine.

‘You all right?’ he asks.

‘Work are organising this group bonding thing at the end of the month,’ I say.

‘Okay…?’

‘They’re talking about going shooting. I think it’s clay pigeons, something like that. I don’t know. Someone else mentioned going to a range so we can be indoors. I was wondering if you know much about it.’

He steps back into the room. His head is tilted, his eyebrows dipped in bemusement. We never talk about things like this. ‘Much about what?’

‘Guns. Shooting. Things like that.’

He frowns and then holds his hands up. ‘You know I don’t. I didn’t know it was your sort of thing.’

‘It’s probably not. I guess I was wondering if you’ve ever shot anything…?’

It’s as subtle as a sledgehammer – but I can’t think of a better way of asking him about the stun gun in his locker. I could ask him outright – but then I’d be admitting my own snooping.

His body language doesn’t shift. He continues to stand with a straight back, features unmoving.

‘When would I have shot a gun?’ he asks.

‘I don’t know. I was only asking.’

‘I’m the wrong person to ask.’ He glances to his watch. ‘Was that all?’

I tell him it is and then he spins on his heels. The front door clicks closed and I listen as his car engine starts to grumble.

All these years and I never realised how good a poker player my husband is. My question was hardly waterboarding, but he didn’t crack at all. If it wasn’t for the fact I’d seen the gun in his locker, I’d swear it didn’t exist. I know it was a taser in his locker, but it’s still a weapon. I’m sure he would have still reacted to the word, ‘gun’. He’s also left me in a position where I either have to ask him directly about it, forget about it, or do something unpredictable, like tell the police.

I’m still thinking that over when there’s the sound of a key scratching against the lock. By the time I get into the hallway, Dan is back inside.

‘Forget something?’ I ask – but he shakes his head and holds the front door wider.

Behind him are constables O’Neill and Marks. PC Marks’ friendly smile seems a long way away as she shares her colleague’s grim look.

It seems obvious why.

‘You’ve found Tyler…?’ I say.

I expect forbidding acceptance. Something awful has happened to him and I’m going to have to break the news to poor Liv.

PC O’Neill shakes his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Can we come in?’

He looks between Dan and I, but neither of us protest. Dan holds the door open and the officers wipe their feet before stepping into the hall. We all move through to the living room and I close the door, pointing upwards and telling them that Olivia is sleeping.

The officers exchange a quick glance. ‘We might have to speak to her,’ PC O’Neill says.

‘Why?’

‘I believe there was a possible break-in here a few days ago…?’

‘Right.’

‘There was a blood sample taken from your garage…?’

It’s clear he knows the answers to these questions and I again confirm he’s correct.

He takes a breath and, in that moment, I know what he’s about to say. My knee wobbles but I hold onto the back of the sofa, maintaining some degree of control.

‘We’ve got the results back on the blood,’ PC O’Neill says. ‘It belongs to Tyler Lambert.’