I google Mitch Silverton in the cab on the way to the airport. Everything Seren said was true. I find a picture – blond hair, dazzling blue eyes, bit of stubble, thin mouth, broad shoulders, sharp dresser, ever so slightly rapey about the eye.

There’s an article from five years ago about the girl he would take home to his place on a lunchtime. A maths whizz without many friends. How she adored him. How he made her feel loved when her dad walked out. How he’d groomed her over many months. How he had hit her only ‘once when he’d lost his temper’.

The rage crackles inside me – the pain intensifies, like I’m being cut open at the breastbone. Storm clouds gather in my head. I can’t catch my breath. He’s in the same house as Ivy.

A message pings through on my phone from Rafael when I’m in the line for security. I need to hear his voice. I call him back as I’m redressing on the other side. I don’t think it even rings before he picks up.

‘Baby? Oh, thank God you’re OK.’

His voice is the soother I need. Like ice cream on a chilli burn. ‘Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, the meeting went on longer than I expected and after they wanted to take me out to lunch to discuss a sequel. I’ve missed you so much.’

‘Oh baby, me too. I can’t wait to see you. So you think they’re gonna publish you? If they’re talking about a sequel already, they must want you.’

‘Yeah, I think so. They said they will probably change the title to The Alibi Girl or something. “Girl” is a more sellable word than “clock”, apparently.’

‘Ahh well, that’s OK isn’t it? Not a deal breaker?’

‘No, I guess not.’

‘You don’t sound sure. Had something happened?’

‘No, I’m OK.’

‘What’s up? Talk to me.’

‘No, I’m just tired, honestly. And my hand aches a bit.’

‘You been doing your exercises?’

‘I forgot. I’ll do some on the plane. Do you want any Toblerone?’

‘No, I’m all set,’ he laughs.

‘Is everyone OK there? How’s Liv?’

‘She’s… OK,’ he said. A hesitation between the noun and the adjective – I was picking up on this more and more where Liv was concerned.

‘Raf? What’s happened?’ My skin prickles. Heat all up my neck.

‘I got back from the restaurant and she was talking to Mom in the kitchen. Wouldn’t let me see her face – she says she “fell over”. She won’t come out of the bathroom.’

The chilli burn in my heart returns. ‘Get your dad and your brother and your uncles, grab your blow torches and go round to that fucker’s house and end it for her.’

‘She wouldn’t thank us.’