After Ella left, Dee was too restless to go to bed. She opened her laptop and checked her emails. On the train back from London earlier, she’d sent Emer an email. So far, Emer hadn’t replied. But there was an email from Shay Flaherty. Dee had emailed him earlier as well, telling him they needed to speak. He’d replied with a phone number, asking her to call him tomorrow morning.

Opening Facebook, Dee checked Emer’s account, thinking she might have posted an update. Again, there was nothing. Dee knew she should let it go, forget about Emer and Annie and Kitty and focus on the book she was writing. Emer clearly didn’t want to stay in touch and, if Dee had an ounce of good sense, she would accept that decision and move on with her life. But good sense had never been Dee’s strongest point.

Giving up on the internet, she went into the room that used to be her mother’s office. In the months following her mother’s death, Dee had spent a lot of time in this room. It had been her mother’s private space, where she came when she wanted some peace and quiet. Opening the door now, Dee realised with a shock that it had been months since she’d last come in here. The room smelled musty and everything was covered in a layer of dust. Including the old address book on the desk in the middle of the room.

Dee sat down in the chair her mother used to sit in each day to do the Times crossword. Opening the address book, she flicked through it until she found the name she was looking for. Dee’s father might have stopped speaking to his brother, but nothing in the world would have stopped her mother keeping tabs on his family over the years. Ursula Doran’s name, address and telephone number were all here, recorded in the neat handwriting Dee remembered so well.

It was only ten o’clock. Most people, Dee reasoned, would still be up at this time. There was a landline phone on the desk. Using this, Dee dialled the phone number in the address book and waited. She listened as the phone the other end rang. Ten rings later, she got a recorded message, asking her to leave her name and a number.

She hung up without speaking. Then, a few seconds later, changed her mind. Redialling the number, she waited, preparing the message she was going to leave when she got the answering service. Except this time, someone picked up.

‘Hello?’

‘Ursula?’ Dee said.

‘I’m afraid she’s not here right now,’ the woman said. ‘Can I take a message?’

‘It’s actually her daughter, Emer, I’m looking for,’ Dee said.

‘This is Emer.’