“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a lot to be getting on with.”

On her way back down the cold concrete steps, Heather’s phone rang. Pausing by a battered and ancient telephone box, she pressed receive.

“Miss Evans?”

“Oh, DI Parker. Hello.”

“I got your voicemail. You have something on Fiona Graham?”

“Yes, I sent you an email. It’s not much, but there’s a photo I think might be her. My dad took it, years ago.”

“Do you think your parents knew Fiona Graham?”

The question threw her for a moment. What was he suggesting?

“Well, I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.”

“Would you come in to the office tomorrow? I’m back in London.”

“Here I was thinking I’d lost the chance to see you again.”

He made a small noise of amusement, and Heather was surprised by how much it pleased her to have amused him, even a little bit. It was good to smile after her unpleasant conversation with Ms. Whittaker.

“No such luck,” he continued.

“Does this mean you’ve found Fiona Graham?”

There was a pause, and within it Heather imagined all manner of terrible fates for the girl she might have met fleetingly in her childhood. She stood very still, staring unseeing at the scratched glass of the telephone booth.

“Listen, I’ll tell you what I can tomorrow. If you can make it then?”

“It’s a date.” She waited for another laugh, but there was nothing this time.

When Heather arrived back at her mother’s house, it was to find Lillian standing at her gate, a large Tupperware box in her arms. Catching sight of Heather’s bemused expression, the old woman had the grace to look embarrassed.

“You mustn’t think I’m poking my nose where it isn’t wanted, dear, but you look thin and I’m worried you’re not eating properly.” When Heather opened her mouth to object, Lillian held her hand up. “I know, interfering old baggage, it’s not the role I wanted to play either but here we are. I can’t help worrying.” She hefted the Tupperware box in her arms. “Just a traybake. Something to line your stomach. I whipped it up this morning, and then blithely assumed you would be in. I was just dithering out here, wondering if I should leave them on your doorstep like a good fairy.”

Heather thought of the pile of washing up from the night before, the lines of empty tumblers and wine glasses. She winced.

“That’s very kind of you, Lillian. Please, come in.”

Once inside, Lillian took the box through to the kitchen and deposited it on the side, only glancing briefly at the chaos around the sink.

“There you are. Just bread pudding, but it’s good and stodgy and if you pop some ice-cream on the side it’s actually pretty good, if I do say so myself.” She paused and laid one warm hand on Heather’s arm. “I’ll leave you be now, I promise, but if you do need anything at all, you will let me know, won’t you? Are you holding up, Heather? I would hate to think that you were struggling, and I know your mother would be horrified.”