‘Someone I owe money to. I can’t pay it yet. Haven’t got it but I will.’

I flick Freya a look but she’s watching Ange. ‘How do you know about Evergreen?’ she says and Ange turns back and shrugs.

‘Ange, what was Iona doing there?’ Freya asks again. ‘This could be really important. Maybe I could help out with whatever issue you have with that man who’s just walked in.’

Ange laughs. ‘It’d take a lot more than you could pay me.’ She chews the corner of her lip and I sense she’s deliberating.

‘However things ended between you and your daughter, you must want to know what happened to her,’ I say. ‘There must be a part of you that needs answers.’

‘I have answers.’ Ange stares at me. ‘Some boy killed her. He admitted it.’

‘The police don’t believe that’s the truth,’ I blurt and she cocks her head slightly. ‘So if there was a reason she went …’ I pause, hoping to encourage her to fill the silence. I can see she is weighing it up as she tips her glass back, draining the last dregs of wine.

‘She was looking for someone,’ she says at last. So Dad was right. ‘I told her not to go anywhere near that island, but she was a stubborn bugger.’

‘Why didn’t you want her going?’ Freya asks.

‘Because I knew it wouldn’t end well. We had a row about it. Huge one. Knew for sure I wouldn’t see her again after that. She called me things you don’t call your own mother.’

And I’m sure you said worse, I think as Ange stares down at her empty glass. I’m not sure if there’s any guilt or regret behind her glazed expression, or if the sadness of losing her daughter is nothing compared to what her life has become.

‘Who was she looking for?’ I ask.

Ange pushes her glass across the table towards me.

‘I’ll get you another one,’ Freya says, but she needs me to move before she can get out of the booth and I’m not budging until Ange answers.

‘Her sister,’ she says, looking up as the man she owes money to starts walking over to our table.

‘Her sister?’ I ask sceptically, as Ange speaks to the man. ‘I haven’t got your money today, Frank, but I’ll get it.’

Frank’s muscled arms hang at the sides of his body. Tattoos creep out the top of his sweatshirt, climbing his neck. His eyes roll over both me and Freya as he sums us up, obviously unable to reach a conclusion as to what we’re doing here.

‘A word?’ he says, gesturing to the door then marching towards it.

Ange shuffles across the seat, but Freya reaches out and takes hold of her arm as she stands. ‘Who was her sister?’

Ange pauses. ‘Her name was Scarlet.’