‘Becca, you’d be better off sleeping now and we’ll talk about this in the morning.’

‘But I can’t sleep. I won’t even be able to close my eyes with all this shit flying around in my head and I already slept for hours this afternoon.’

‘Hold on a minute.’

Jeff leaves and goes to the bathroom. When I try to stand the rooms spins in front of me, forcing me to sit back down again. I remember that I haven’t told Jeff about the newspapers under Dad’s bed, that I suspect he might have been aware I was abducted too. And if he did know? That would make him a suspect too.

Jeff returns with a pill, handing it to me.

‘Take this,’ he says.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s a sleeping pill. My sister’s. Apparently the perfect life can keep you awake as well.’

Chapter Fifty-One

Jesus, my head is thumping. Lifting it off the pillow has taken all my energy. Then I hear it, the loud crash in my head. Yesterday’s nightmare. It slams into me, sending me into total hysteria. Jumping out of the bed, I run to the bathroom. I’m going to be sick. Sitting by the toilet bowl, I curl up into a ball. What am I going to do?

Outside I hear Jeff clattering dishes. The smell of cooking wafts in, sending my stomach summersaulting. I’m nervous, helpless, each memory from the day before queuing up to unnerve me, weakening me more. I pull myself into a standing position and look in the mirror. I don’t look like me anymore. Dark rings below red eyes dominate my shrinking face. My hair sticks like rat’s tails to my neck. Splashing water on my face, I try to feel its coolness against my skin, but I’m numb. Am I dead? I am dead. Becca Wall is dead. The person I’m looking at is Louise Johnson.

I hear Jeff at the door, asking if I’m okay, but words won’t leave my mouth when I open it. I reach for the door handle and press. Jeff is standing there, his face as pale as my own.

‘Are you okay?’ he says. Still I don’t answer, walking past him out into the small hallway that leads to the main room.

I push the door open and drag myself to one of the stools by the kitchen island. I feel heavier, like someone has injected lead into my body while I slept. I grab a glass of orange juice from the counter, sipping it to refresh my mouth. Slowly I feel my body beginning to respond.

‘I’m okay,’ I say.

‘I’ve made some frittata,’ Jeff says and I sit there wondering what the hell frittata is. Have I forgotten? Did I ever know? Does Louise know? I force a miserable smile.

‘Thanks, Jeff.’