I folded myself onto one of my kitchen chairs, still orange pine despite my best intentions, and let him pour me a large gin. When I closed my eyes, I saw blood flying at me, and then the pig’s head on Gary’s shoulders. My mind was full of the case but I felt the need to pretend to Dad that I was a normal human who could forget about work for a while. ‘How was your day?’ I asked.

‘I tidied up the garden and did a bit of cleaning.’

‘That’s very good of you.’

‘It’s fine. You work hard. I’ll leave that to simmer.’ He sat opposite and raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’ I tried not to feel suspicious. This was almost too much. But it made a nice change to eat a meal with actual vegetables instead of my normal fare of cereal or beans on toast, with a bit of cheese if I was working at peak domestic goddess.

‘How are you getting on at work?’ Dad asked.

I sighed. ‘Okay. Slow progress.’ I should have been able to share with him how hard this case was, how horrible it was being criticised online, to have a knife at my throat, to see a pet pig being killed because people didn’t think I was doing my job, to be doused in blood. But he’d been out of my life for so long, he was a stranger. I couldn’t confide in him.

‘Oh dear. I hope there won’t be more animals killed tonight.’

I gulped a large amount of gin. ‘Me too, Dad. Me too.’

Dad swallowed loudly. ‘I wanted to talk to you, Meg.’

‘That sounds ominous.’

‘No … It’s not. I’ve been thinking a lot about … when your sister died.’

That old image flashed into my mind. Carrie the day I found her. Feet dangling where feet should never be, sending an immediate stab of horror into my brain. Her neck bent, her head dropped forward, the rope taut above her. I blinked and pushed the image away. I’d been doing so well. Not checking the ceilings. Not having flashbacks.

Dad never talked about Carrie. That had been one of the problems between him and Mum. Not many marriages survive the death of a child.

‘It’s a long time ago now,’ he said, ‘But I still think about her.’

‘Of course. So do I.’

He seemed so far out of his comfort zone he was in Here-Be-Dragons land. He coughed. ‘I thought I might try to help people who’ve been affected by teenage suicide. It’s such a hard thing to deal with.’

‘Okay …’

‘I know our situation wasn’t typical. Poor Carrie was dying anyway, but we all still felt …’

‘Guilty?’

‘Yes. We all felt terribly guilty.’