My thumb brushed the hard plastic edge of my second flip phone, the prepaid one I had bought three years ago at the pharmacy on High Street and kept charged in my closet.

I slid the phone out into my lap, keeping it hidden under the wide sleeve of my cardigan.

The small green battery bar showed full strength in the upper corner of the screen.

I kept my eyes on the hallway door as I opened the saved contact list.

David’s office mobile number was the first entry on the short list.

I typed out a short message on the rubber number keys, my fingers moving slowly so the tiny buttons made no sound in the quiet room.