‘Thanks for the offer of a lift, Nathan. But I’m going to get a cab.’ I fight to keep my voice bright and breezy as I flag down a passing taxi. ‘I’ll call you later.’

‘But what about…’ he begins but I’m already climbing into the back seat and slamming the door behind me. As we pull away I swivel my head to look out of the back window, and the shock on Nathan’s face is palpable.

Forty-five minutes later I arrive at Tom’s. His face is pale as he opens the door but he hugs me hello and asks how I am.

‘I’m fine. How’s Amanda?’ I keep my voice low as I step into the hallway.

Every line on his face is etched with worry. ‘She’s getting worse. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Why don’t you have a break? Go for a walk. I’ll stay with her.’

He seems torn as he glances towards the stairs. ‘A walk would be nice, but…’

‘She’ll be fine, I promise. She probably won’t even notice you’ve gone.’

‘Thanks. I won’t be too long.’

He is slipping on his shoes as I pad upstairs; I’m not sure if Amanda is awake. I stick my head around their bedroom door trying not to recoil from the sour smell of sweat and despair.

‘Amanda?’ I whisper. It’s hard to see in the gloom and I tiptoe across the room towards the shape huddled in the bed. The duvet rises and falls as she gently snores, and I leave as quietly as I can. At the top of the stairs I hesitate. The spare room is to my right. The door is ajar. I can see the boxes containing Callie’s things, and I glance downstairs. Tom could be gone for ages. Amanda is asleep. There’d be no harm in taking a quick look would there?

* * *

I try to open the first box as quietly as I can but the cardboard flaps scrape against each other and I pause every few seconds, listening out for Amanda. The first box is full of clothes and I press down into the softness but I can’t feel anything else and so I try another box. I lift out a tangle of wires and underneath there’s an iPad. I open the magnetic case but the screen remains dark and I find the right lead and plug it into a socket. The battery symbol flashes red, but within a few minutes it shows it is charging and as it switches on I feel a rush of excitement as I press open Safari, but I’m not connected to the Internet and I have to create a hotspot from my phone before I can try again. Callie’s search history is empty and, disappointed, I try her emails instead. Scrolling down I notice nothing of interest. Recipes Amanda has sent her, YouTube funny cat videos forwarded from Sara at work. I flick through her apps. Words with Friends, Air Hockey, Tetris. I press my finger against the icon for Evernote. There’s a file for gardening. Notes on shrubs. And a folder marked ‘flights’. I open this one and there’s a weblink to a page of prices for two one-way tickets to Spain. Callie must have helped Sophie and her boyfriend with their travel arrangements, but I wonder why the tickets are one way when Tom and Amanda seem to expect Sophie to return any day. There’s another file and this one contains links to an application for a payday loan but before I can read any more there’s a movement from Amanda’s bedroom. I unplug the iPad and quietly place everything back where I had found it before slipping out of the room and tapping on Amanda’s door.

She is lying on her back staring up at nothing. Her hands rest on top of the covers and her wrists look like twigs poking out of her sleeves; one wrong move and they’ll snap.

‘How are you, Amanda?’

‘Tired,’ she whispers although she’s only just woken.

‘I’ve got something for you. Can I open the curtains?’

Her head barely moves but I think she nods. I skirt around the bedstead, and I part the curtains before cracking open the window. A warm honey glow fills the room. Already, it’s less stuffy.

The mattress sags and squeaks as I perch on the edge of the bed. Amanda props herself up with a pillow while I pull open my bag and take out the painting.

Her hands shake and it takes her an age to take off the tissue paper. When the picture is unwrapped I’m shocked to see anguish streak her face as she stares at the picture, seeing more in the scene than I ever could.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘You haven’t. It was very kind of you to think of me.’

‘I bought it from an amateur art exhibition today. It reminded me of the ones you painted.’

‘We loved the beach. All of us. I was used to foreign holidays growing up. Guaranteed sunshine but Tom and I couldn’t provide that for the girls. We went back to Owl Lodge Caravan Park at Newley-On-Sea, year after year, and the girls adored it. Even when rain splattered on the caravan roof so loudly I had to stuff cotton wool in their ears just so they could get to sleep. Callie and Sophie had a pink bucket just like this one.’ She traces the swirls the brush has made in the paint with her finger.

‘Good memories to have.’

‘I didn’t realise how lucky I was.’ Amanda bursts into tears.

I stand and contort my body so I am leaning over hugging her, and my T-shirt becomes damp with her grief. I hold her as her body shakes, ignoring the pins and needles in my hand, the aching in my back, until Tom comes home.

It’s been such a long day and I’m exhausted, but as I push open the communal door that leads to my flat I instinctively feel something is wrong. There’s a sickly-sweet scent in the air. At first I put it down to nerves – after the experience with Neil yesterday I’m bound to feel apprehensive – but as I step inside I see them. Lilies and roses scattered over the stairs. The flowers I’d left in Nathan’s car. The wicker basket they’d been delivered in is lying in pieces, broken and twisted, as though it has been stamped on. As I stand staring at it there is a rush of blood to my head and I wobble on my feet. I place one hand against the wall to steady myself. The door crashes shut behind me and my stomach constricts into a hard knot of fear. Reaching behind me I pull the door open again and let it slam shut as though I have left, and then I crouch in the shadows to the side of the staircase waiting for footsteps to pound down the stairs. I stay hidden, keeping myself as small as possible as the minutes tick by until cramp forces me to my feet. I don’t think there’s anyone here.

Slowly. Quietly. I creep up the staircase, craning my neck, looking for the shift of a shadow, the shuffling of feet and, although there’s nothing, my fear builds and builds until I reach the top of the stairs – and then I know.

My front door is cracked open.

Someone is in my flat.