I don’t know what it is I’m hoping to find. I need to be quick. I dive round to the right hand side of his bed, approaching the purple bedside cabinet, my heart banging like a crazed prisoner fighting to get out of their cage. The Wi-Fi box is glowing green, sitting against the wall. Don’t mess anything up. You’ve got to leave everything the way you found it. I yank open the drawer. Shit, it’s empty. I pull open the second one at the bottom; it’s empty too. I edge around to the other side of the bed and check the drawers of the cabinet there. It’s the same result. I stare at the bed. It could be one of those ottoman ones that lift up. Emma and Michael store all the Christmas decorations underneath their bed at home, Emma said it makes it easier than storing everything in the loft, especially as they’re getting older.

I’m not going to have enough time to check under his bed. I take a step forward; the sound of footsteps on gravel reaches me. It’s Oliver. He’s coming back down the path. The way how he’s walking makes it seem as though he’s forgotten something and he’s running back to get it. If he sees me, what the hell am I going to say to him? He’s going to know I’ve been in his room if I leave now, he’ll see me coming out. I eye the wardrobe, a lump wedges in my throat. No I can’t. The door to the annexe squeaks open. I have no choice; I fling open the wardrobe door and dive inside, carefully shutting the door behind me.

I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound of my breathing. He’s in the room, he’s moving stuff about, there’s a thud as something hits the floor. Dizziness sweeps through me. No, I will not pass out. Not in here. He might only be in his room for a few moments. There’s a creaking sound, he’s got onto the bed. What’s he doing? I have to resist the urge to open the wardrobe door a smidge to have a look. A vision flashes in my mind of me peeking out of the wardrobe years ago and seeing Harvey, his shirt stained with blood.

‘I know you’re there, Grace.’ The soft tone of Oliver’s voice fills me with absolute dread. No. How could he have seen me? He hadn’t looked in the direction of the room while I was coming down the path. ‘Why don’t you come out and we can have a little chat?’

If he knows I’m here why doesn’t he just open the wardrobe doors himself? I ease the door open. He’s lying on the bed, holding his hands behind his head.

‘I’m sorry, Oliver, I . . .’

‘It’s quite alright, Grace. Sit down; we can have a nice chat.’

I do as he says and edge over to the armchair by the window. I don’t have a choice.