I’m sitting on the sofa in the lounge hugging my knees to my chest. The curtains are drawn. A moth hurls itself at the table lamp which is doing its best to cast a comforting glow, but I’m too shaken up to feel anywhere near comfortable. There’s a hard knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat as I mentally play back the events of this afternoon.

After standing awkwardly in the playground for what seemed like forever, enduring the stares and whispers of the other parents, Joe’s class finally came out. I collected him in a shocked daze, barely able to focus on any of his excited chatter about his class assembly. Thankfully, Joe didn’t seem to be upset that I hadn’t been in the audience. Somehow, I got him home. I remember very little about the journey back, my emotions wildly swinging between distress and anger. I’m only thankful I didn’t crash the car.

I managed to get him into bed early tonight. Now, I’m waiting for Jared to get home so I can tell him about my awful experience with Darcy today. At least I know it’s not me being paranoid any more. She’s unhinged. She’s a liar. And she’s been trying to destroy my life for weeks. I should have listened to my gut right from the start. The question is, why? Why has she been gunning for me all this time? Did I do something wrong? Did I offend her in some way? Is she a deranged person who behaves like this with everyone? Or, am I missing something?

I’m really not sure I should go over to Mike’s this evening. I think it would probably be better if I just stayed the hell away from all the Lanes. I’m seriously considering pulling Joe out of Cerne Manor and putting him back in his old school. How can I walk back into that playground when all the mums think I’m some kind of husband-stealer? The looks on their faces this afternoon… it was awful.

The radiators hiss and the pipes gurgle. The house is warm, yet my hands and feet are icy cold. I cross my arms and slot my hands under my armpits to try to defrost them. Jared’s key turns in the lock but I don’t move from the sofa. I don’t want our evening to be marred by another conversation about Darcy. And yet I have to tell my husband what happened. I need his support in this.

‘Hey?’ Jared calls. The front door bangs and his keys land with a clatter on the hall table.

‘In here!’ I call, hearing the listless tone in my voice.

His head pops around the door. ‘Hey.’

‘Hi.’

‘How you doing?’

‘Not great.’

His face falls. ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

‘Give you three guesses.’

‘Not something to do with Darcy.’ He gives the slightest of eye rolls, and I guess I can’t blame him. Everything these days seems to be about that woman.

‘Sorry, yes it is,’ I reply.

‘I’m starving. Let me grab something to eat,’ he says, ‘and then you can tell me.’

With some difficulty, I peel myself off the sofa and follow him into the kitchen. ‘There are jacket potatoes in the oven,’ I say, ‘but they won’t be ready for another twenty minutes.’

‘I’ll just have a cheese cracker or something in the meantime,’ he says, his brow creased, his mouth a hard line. He’s obviously pissed off that he’s come home to another Darcy drama, but what am I supposed to do? It’s not my fault I have a psycho trying to hack apart my life.

I sit at the table as Jared pulls a beer from the fridge, and loads a plate with crackers, sliced cheese and salad. He pops the bottle cap and takes a long swig.

‘How was work today?’ I ask.

‘Good,’ he replies.

‘Everything going as planned? Are you getting the business in?’

He nods and leans back against the fridge for a moment, eyes closed. Then, he slides into the chair opposite me.

Okay, this isn’t going well. He’s not happy. What should I do? Should I not tell him what happened today? Ignore it and pretend everything’s fine.

‘So?’ he finally says, his eyes open again. ‘What’s happened?’

I tell him about the playground incident. About Darcy making out that I’m going after her husband, and about her accusing Joe of bullying Tyler when it’s clearly the other way around. I tell him about Darcy raising her voice so that all the other mums now hate me.

Jared shakes his head, and I can’t tell whether he’s annoyed with Darcy’s behaviour, or annoyed that I’m talking about her, yet again.

‘Are you pissed off or something?’ I ask. ‘I could really do with some support about now.’

‘Just tired, Lou.’

‘Sorry,’ I say, not sounding sorry at all. ‘I hate loading all this on you, but don’t you think she’s totally out of order?’

‘Yes,’ he says wearily. ‘Yes. It sounds like you had a horrible afternoon. What made her say those things, anyway? Did you say anything? Something that could have provoked her?’

‘No,’ I reply. ‘Well, I told her about bumping into Mike, and that he asked me to go over there—’

‘Well, there you go,’ he says. ‘She’s going through a breakup, Louisa. You telling her that you’re going to see her husband probably isn’t going to make her feel great.’

‘I was tactful and nice. I didn’t say anything to provoke her. And anyway, I’m pretty sure she lied about him leaving her. I told you on the phone, Mike says she kicked him out.’

‘Maybe she lashed out without thinking. I’m sure she’ll apologise.’

‘You weren’t there,’ I say, trying to keep my voice under control. ‘She’s not right in the head, Jared. She’s trying to wreck my life.’

He nods and takes another swig of beer. ‘So, what do you want to do about it? What can we do? Because this is getting beyond crazy. Every day there’s something else with Darcy. I don’t think I can deal with it for much longer.’

‘Me neither,’ I say.

‘No, Lou,’ he says through gritted teeth, ‘I mean, I don’t think I can deal with your obsession for much longer.’

‘My what!’

He stares across at me. ‘Every day, Lou. Every day. It’s Darcy’s done this, or Darcy’s done that. I want to be supportive, but I think it would be better for everyone if you just stayed away from her. Don’t go to her house, or organise joint parties, or go for coffee with the woman. Just stay the hell away, and then we won’t have all this constant drama.’ He rakes his fingers through his hair and takes another swig of beer. His plate of cheese and crackers still sits untouched on the table.

I scrape my chair back and stand up, my whole body shaking with hurt and rage. Then, I turn my back on my husband and leave the kitchen.

‘Where are you going?’ he calls.

‘Out.’

‘Louisa!’

I ignore him, fumble on the floor for my handbag and snatch at my coat from the coat rack. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely get my arms through the sleeves. Jared comes out of the kitchen.

‘Lou, I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s fine, you’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m a demented woman who’s making a mountain out of a molehill. So, I’ll leave you in peace. Joe’s in bed. It’s Saturday tomorrow, so you can have a nice boys’ weekend together.’ I glance around for my car keys. They’re not in my bag, or on the hall table. I pat my coat pockets and hear the metal jingle.

‘Where are you going?’ he says, putting a hand on my coat sleeve. ‘Stay. Please. I’m sorry. I’m just cranky, that’s all.’

I glare at him, open the front door and walk out into the cold night, closing the front door behind me with a soft click. My hurt over Darcy’s behaviour is bubbling up into a cold, determined fury. I’m sick of being a victim. Sick of being treated like I’m behaving unreasonably. That woman has been undermining my confidence since the day I met her. Manipulating me, fooling my family, and I’m not going to stand for it any more.

I’m shivering, my hands are clammy and my head doesn’t feel right, but the best thing now is to get this over and done with. I draw the keys from my pocket and unlock the car.

I’m going to go to Mike’s place and I’m going to get him to tell me all about his wife. I’m going to ask him exactly what Darcy’s problem is with me and why she told me he left her when it was quite clearly the other way around. I’m going to tell Mike exactly what she’s been saying and doing, and I’m going to get answers. And if Mike doesn’t know, or if he won’t talk, then I’ll drive round to Darcy’s and demand that she tell me exactly what the hell is going on.

I slide into the car. It’s cold enough in here to see my breath. There’ll probably be a frost tonight. I take my wallet out of my bag and draw out the business card Mike gave me earlier. It’s too dark to see, so I switch on the car’s interior light and check the address – Chaddesley Glen – I know where that is, so I start the engine and pull away with a judder and screech.

Disappointment pulls at my gut, reminding me that Jared didn’t follow me out of the house. That he didn’t try to persuade me back in. I might have let him if he’d at least tried. Maybe it’s better this way. I need to find out what’s really behind Darcy’s passive-aggressive behaviour. If I can end her subtle attacks on me, then I can go back to having a normal life with my family.

The apartment isn’t far away – only about ten minutes by car, yet it might as well be on the other side of the world. Jared and I couldn’t afford a garden shed on this road. Mike’s place is situated on the top of a hill, minutes from the harbour. I pull up outside a new block of blue and glass apartments. I don’t give myself time to stop and think about anything. Determined, I turn off the engine and exit the car, the chill air making me catch my breath.

The street is silent. Next door to the apartments, a beautiful 1920’s arts-and-crafts house sits on its own, alone amid all the shiny new blocks, its garden wild and untended. I have a sad feeling its days are numbered. I wonder how long it will remain there. How long until developers like Mike and Darcy seize the land and dump another multi-million-pound concrete and glass apartment block on it.

I make my way up the stone steps and through the automatic doors into the spacious lobby. A man comes out and holds the inner door open for me. I murmur a thank you, go straight through and call the lift. Flat 9 – Mike’s flat – is on the top floor. It’s the penthouse, of course. After a short wait, the lift doors slide open and I step inside. The unforgiving lights and the gleaming mirror inside declare me a mess. My face is pale, my mascara smudged, my hair greasy and my clothes crumpled. I don’t even try to repair the damage. Instead, I turn away from the mirror and face the doors, trying not to inhale the cloying scent of pine air freshener.

The lift whooshes up and the doors open with a loud ding. Stepping out, I find myself in a small lobby with a leather armchair and a tall, leafy pot plant.

There’s only one door. He must have the whole top floor to himself. I’m curious to see what it’s like inside. I press the buzzer and wait. No answer. I check my watch – almost nine o’clock. He said he would be in all evening. I press the buzzer again.

Nothing.

I was all geared up to get this sorted out. I’ll be gutted and annoyed if he’s not at home. Maybe he’s got the TV turned up too loud to hear the buzzer. I’ll call his mobile. I sit in the leather armchair and root around in my bag for my phone and Mike’s card. I punch in the number. It goes straight to voicemail.

‘Hey, Mike,’ I say. ‘It’s me, Louisa. I’m at your apartment. You asked me to pop by this evening. No worries if you’re out. Anyway, give me a call if you need to talk. Bye.’

Maybe he forgot, or maybe he changed his mind. Maybe Darcy didn’t want me to come over here, so she invited him to hers. Whatever. I’m done with it. Done with the Lanes and their crazy lives. What am I even doing here? I need to go back home, make up with my husband and stay the hell away from all three of them. I’ll talk to Jared about moving Joe back to his old school. Everything will be fine. Relief sweeps across me and I suddenly feel lighter.

I slip my phone and Mike’s business card back into my bag and stand up. As I do so, I notice that Mike’s front door isn’t closed properly. I push with my fingertips and it swings open, revealing a large hallway with polished wooden floorboards, a geometric-patterned rug and Scandi-style hallway furniture. The hall light is on but the rooms beyond appear to be in darkness.

‘Hello!’ I call out.

There’s no reply. I tilt my head, listening for any sounds within, hesitant to step over the threshold.

‘Mike?’ My voice sounds loud. The back of my neck prickles. Everything suddenly seems too quiet. Maybe he had to go somewhere in a hurry and forgot to lock up properly. I hope he hasn’t had a break in. The hall looks untouched. I should probably go in and double-check that he’s not here, then I can lock up and leave him a message that his door was open.

I step inside. All my senses on heightened alert, telling me to get out. To leave and call the police. But I can’t stop myself moving forward into the silent hallway. I push open one of the inner doors and press the light switch. A bedroom. Empty. I move to the next two rooms, one is another bedroom, the other an office. Nothing looks as though it’s been disturbed. I enter the living room, next. It’s a vast space opening out onto a glass balcony, the harbour lights twinkling below. The TV is on with the sound down, bright images of some American city flickering across the screen. I can’t imagine Mike would have left without turning the television off. Unless there was some kind of emergency…

I leave the lounge and open the next door along the hallway. It’s dark, so I fumble for the light switch. And now I see him. Mike is here. In the kitchen diner. On the floor. Eyes wide and staring. The tang of blood and fear in my nostrils.

He’s dead.

His shirt is torn. There’s blood everywhere. Staining his pale blue shirt, darkening his jeans.

I want to scream or run, but I don’t. Instead, I stay rooted to the spot as I hear myself whisper Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, over and over again. It’s like I’m in some TV drama. It doesn’t feel real. I tell myself to keep it together, not to faint or panic. I have to do something. Should I call an ambulance? Maybe they can do something. Save him… No. He’s dead. He’s not coming back. He’s actually dead. I’ve never seen a dead person before.

Call the police, Louisa, call the police. I’m muttering. I think I must be in shock. I want to call Jared. Instead, with shaking hands, I pull out my phone and call 999.