I don’t have time to answer as we reach the table and Freya shakes the woman’s hand. I quickly offer to get the round, which consists of a large white wine for Ange and two Cokes for Freya and me. When I return to the table they’re already deep in conversation, Freya saying how grateful she is for the woman’s time, even though it’s quickly apparent Ange has little else to do. I slide in silently beside Freya and as they talk I study the woman, trying to find any resemblance to the young girl I remember.

Ange’s fingers are yellowed from nicotine, the same shade as her teeth. Her greying hair has flecks of auburn and is scraped back into a ponytail. There is something familiar about her green eyes that flick nervously between the two of us, but it’s not Iona’s I see in them. They settle on me as she warily watches me sipping my Coke.

‘My name’s Stella,’ I say, smiling. Ange’s hands shake as they grip on to the stem of her wine glass. ‘I’m a friend of Freya’s and I knew Iona too. I’m so sorry about what happened.’

‘Your fault, was it?’ she says.

I open my mouth but I have no words. She laughs at me in a deep cackle. ‘Joking with you, love.’

I smile again but her inappropriateness makes me feel nothing more than revulsion. Freya glances at me but I can’t look at her.

‘Already had the police asking a load of questions,’ Ange says. ‘So don’t know what you want.’

‘Well, I’m just interested in Iona’s back story, what happened before she went to Evergreen. Have you always lived here, Ange?’ Freya asks.

The woman nods. ‘I was born here. Same as Iona,’ she says. ‘She got away but I never did.’

‘So, when did you stop seeing her?’

‘A while before she went over there. Can’t remember how long.’ Ange takes a quick slug of wine. Her eyes peer over the rim of the glass, focusing on the table, and I’d bet she knows exactly how long it was.

‘And did you know she planned to go to Evergreen?’ Freya asks.

Ange gives a slight nod, slowly looking up.

‘It’s a funny place to go,’ Freya says, leaning her body forward as if whatever Ange tells her is in complete confidence. ‘I’m surprised she’d even heard of it, living in Birmingham, so far away. Many people don’t know it exists. It’s not a big island.’

‘No,’ Ange says. ‘One hundred and two people.’

I lean forward myself. So, Ange knows about it.

Suddenly the door swings open and Ange looks up at whoever’s just walked in. I go to turn as she says through gritted teeth, ‘Don’t look over.’

‘Who is it?’ Freya asks.