Luke pushes himself up and turns around to look at me. ‘Oh, hey Stella.’ His eyes flick to Bonnie who has stopped beside me, irritation bubbling off her.

‘Come on,’ she snaps as she pulls my arm and drags me through to the back. ‘He’s watching TV, we can sit in here instead.’

‘What does Luke think?’ I ask as she unscrews a bottle of lemonade and pours us both a glass.

Bonnie shrugs. ‘I don’t know,’ she says, handing me a drink. Her hand is shaking, I notice, only slightly but it is there.

‘What’s happened?’

‘We had an argument. Fantastic timing, isn’t it?’ She rolls her eyes and walks over to the sofa, expecting me to follow. ‘My whole life is cracking apart and to top it off my husband and I fall out.’

I sigh as I sit down next to her.

‘I can’t stop thinking of the last time I saw Iona,’ Bonnie says. ‘It plays on a loop in my head.’

I open my mouth to ask her about it but already she’s going on, ‘We used to talk about everything.’ Tears glisten in her eyes, but when she catches me looking she turns away.

‘You saw how close we were,’ she says. ‘I never had a better friend than Iona. I loved her.’

‘I know you were close, Bonnie,’ I say softly, thinking back to how Bonnie always wanted her for herself. I’d once watched, mesmerised by the way their arms moved in sync as they cut their food. The time I’d sat in the seat next to Iona, Bonnie had roughly dragged me out of it. I was never allowed near her Sindy dolls when we were younger, and when she found me trying on her roller boots she’d screamed so loudly Mum had raced in from the bottom of the garden, no doubt expecting to see one of us dead on the floor.

I need to remember that, however callous my sister is being over Danny, Iona was once a good friend so this must be hitting Bonnie doubly hard.

‘I hated the way the police were asking about our friendship, trying to pick it apart. I mean, I know it was only a few months …’ Bonnie trails off.

‘What did they ask you?’ I say and she outlines their questions which were similar to the ones Harwood asked me.

Bonnie downs the dregs of her lemonade and shakes her glass as if she’s contemplating a top-up. Her actions are more frantic than usual, though I put it down to the questioning.

‘I didn’t tell them about our argument,’ she says, setting the glass firmly on the side table. ‘It wasn’t important.’ She doesn’t look to me for confirmation so I don’t give any. After all, there were things I kept to myself too. Neither of us, it seems, has been completely honest.