1. Late for Dinner

Emma Finlay placed the plate of what she hoped were two perfectly cooked poached eggs - each one sitting on a piece of wholegrain toast - in front of her husband.

She recognised that this scene - the dutiful wife serving breakfast to her waiting husband and two young children - might appear to a lot of her friends as a bit old-fashioned, but she did not mind that at all.

Ed - her husband of ten years - despite how fastidious he could be, was a good and warm partner and loving father. She watched him slice through the first egg, the yolk pouring onto the butterless toast that he preferred, and smiled.

This breakfast routine had barely changed in all their married years.

"How's the eggs?" she said, as usual waiting as he popped the first forkful into his mouth and started to chew.

"Not sure," he said, and then, after appearing to ponder the question for a few more seconds he frowned. "I've got to be honest with you, love. I think they're ."

She watched him as he looked from her to the children, their faces serious. Both of them waiting.

Then he winked. Olivia and Theo, knowing their cue, both clapped their hands and shouted out: "Perfect!"

And everybody laughed.

She sat down at the other end of the table, her own place set with a bowl of plain yoghurt dotted with blueberries, and a mug of mint tea.

"What's your day looking like, love?" he said to her, sipping his one cup of coffee. Ed - never one for too much caffeine.

Or too much of anything, for that matter.

"Busy," she said. "Lots of kids in, and then we've got a couple of new parents coming to look round. For next September. So, I just might be a bit late home. You okay sorting the kids' supper?"

He frowned as if confused.

"Hmm, I don't know. Really?"

"Oh, no big deal if you can't," said Emma, quickly.

"Might be a bit late myself, you see ."

"Sure, don't worry. I'll sort something."

"Sorry, love."

"It's fine."

He smiled at her, clearly relieved. But then his eyes seemed to linger on hers, and she wondered . was there something wrong?

For a second, she was about to ask him if he was okay. But this wasn't the time or the place. Yes, better tonight, when he came home from work.

Work .

She knew work had been full-on for Ed these last few weeks - long hours, trips away, and more stress than she felt was good for him.

Especially working for Bubblz, the big social media company with its headquarters just outside the village. Ed had been with them from the beginning - seen the company grow and grow!

Though exactly what he did in those long hours, she had to admit, she barely understood. She knew he wrote code - whatever that really meant. Apparently, he was brilliant at it.

But, really, she didn't get it.

Kids had always been her special subject: the kids at the pre-school where she worked, of course; but, most of all, her own two precious darlings, Theo, just turned five, and Olivia, in her own words, "I'm seven-point-five years old".

So sharp, and great at maths.

She could be a coder like her dad, for sure, thought Emma.

She glanced at them both now. They still looked sleepy. They certainly weren't morning kids (if there were any such beings); eating their cereal slowly, sipping their orange juice, neither of them enthusiastic about hurrying to school.

She took a breath and - for no reason particularly that she would later be able to recall - took in the room, the moment, as if capturing a photograph as a keepsake.

There was Ed, wiping the last trace of egg from his plate with the final square of toast, so focussed on the task, the plate clean.

And there were the kids: eating, dreaming, miles away. She was in the picture too - good old Mum at the end of the table.

That picture - for her - perfect.

The morning sun cut through the window behind her, dotting the bright, cheery kitchen - lighting it like it was a stage set.

In minutes, she knew, this moment would be gone - the day suddenly started. Ed would put on his work fleece to head out - laptop in shoulder bag, car keys in hand.

They would kiss at the kitchen door as they did every morning, a brush of lips on cheeks; a rushed "love you".

Then the kids would be dashing around last-minute, in and out of the room, looking for projects, stories, bags, packed lunches.

All of it happening so fast!

She would be rounding them up, wiping stray cereal from shirts, buttoning coats, grabbing house keys.

And Emma thought: This life here? Yes. Maybe old-fashioned . More than a bit quiet .

But she loved it, and - like so many people, she imagined - she hoped it would never change.

Though, she knew, that hope? Things not changing?

Impossible.

*

The day had been normal. Later, Emma Finlay would remember that quite clearly. "Just a day like any other," she would say, when asked.

She came home from pre-school earlier than she'd feared - the prospective parents had cancelled, much to everyone's relief. Then, shortly after, the kids were back from school - Olivia dutifully hitting her homework before playing outside with Theo in the garden.

Being such a good big sister to him.

Then, as the evening drew on, back inside for some TV before dinner and Ed returned.

She was - she knew - by no means a remarkable cook.

But she had mastered some basics that seemed to satisfy everyone and, over the last few years as they'd gone more and more vegetarian, she'd become more adventurous.

Tonight, she had made - with a handy shortcut of leftover soup, beans and some frozen soy mince - a veggie meatloaf, along with broccoli bubbling away in a pan of boiling water. Some potatoes baking in the oven.

Not a bad dinner to come home to, she had thought, checking the wall clock, listening out for Ed's car pulling up in the driveway, the engine stopping.

Even with Ed working late these past few weeks, she still so looked forward to the usual evening ritual. In this household, dinner occurred as soon as Ed came home. Fleece off, and hanging on the back of the chair. His insisting on a few words of Grace, with their hands held.

(And yes, she knew that, too, would seem so old-fashioned to her friends.)

Then they'd chat about everyone's day - a conversation that was pretty much the same from evening to evening. How was your day? Anything unusual happen? What did the kids do at school?

The veggie meatloaf would disappear in far less time than even its easy preparation took.

But tonight - she looked again at the clock on the kitchen wall - she realised it really was getting late for Ed to be back.

No sound of the car. No door opening, shutting.

The kids were enjoying this bonus time watching TV, unaware - maybe except for their growling stomachs.

But not Emma.

Ed was not just late.

He was worryingly late.

*

It had got dark. Emma had gone to the window, clutching her phone in her hand.

She had sent half a dozen messages to her husband, each one with a notch more alarm and concern.

Messages like: "On your way?" "Home soon?" Before, after a time, they disintegrated into the simple and stark: "Where are you?"

When she'd made an actual call to him - something she knew Ed didn't like at all, much preferring the simple back and forth of text messages - the call went to his voicemail right away.

After two voice messages - one where she'd made every effort to hide her worry, and a second where she could no longer do that -there was still no result.

Now she was at the window again, peering into the darkness, as if she might spot him. Just where the heck was he?

Finally, Olivia popped up behind her. "Mum, where's Daddy? It's dinner time, right?"

Emma looked down and quickly smiled. Though she herself felt alarm, there was no reason to worry Olivia.

"Probably something came up at work. It's all right, sweetheart."

Emma saw from Olivia's face that she was not exactly reassured by those words.

Meanwhile, all sorts of ideas raced through Emma's head - from some terrible accident on the main road to a more benign late meeting on a project, his phone misplaced.

She tried to nudge those thoughts in the latter direction.

Except .

Ed never misplaced his phone.

There was something she absolutely knew about her husband: any delay, any change and he would be sure to call her.

At the window, she looked down at her phone, and fired off yet another message, not caring about how desperate it might sound.

"Ed - call me? I'm so worried."

It was getting late. She went back to the kitchen.

Time to...