After parking the car, Julie and I were set upon by a small but determined group of reporters hoping to get a topline to run with, or to strike gold and get an interview with Clare’s family.

I felt them swarm around me and while they were polite, it felt overwhelming. How did we know Clare? Were we related? Was there any more information? Was there any truth in the rumour that the police were hunting her boyfriend? Could we just, please, ask her parents to speak to them? Did we have a picture they could share?

Julie blinked at me, her eyes wide with panic. I clasped her hand tight in mine and politely told the reporters that I wouldn’t be answering any of their questions. Thankfully, the sight of a policeman at the door of the house was enough to stop them following us up the garden path. He looked us up and down, sizing us up.

‘We’re friends of Clare’s,’ I said. ‘Close friends. Ask Ronan or Mr and Mrs Taylor.’

He asked us to wait where we were while he went inside to check. We were expecting him to return, but it was Ronan, pale and exhausted-looking, who opened the door and let us in.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Julie said, throwing herself into his arms.

He didn’t speak for a moment, just hugged her back as they both cried. I stood awkwardly; there was an intimacy in their hug that made me feel like a third wheel.

When they pulled apart, Ronan gave me a hug, too, and I whispered my apologies for his loss. Never had words seemed so woefully inadequate.

‘My parents are upstairs, sleeping. It was a bad night, so we got the doctor to give them something first thing. I’ve told them they’ve to keep their strength up,’ Ronan said.

‘You’ve been here all night?’ I asked.

He nodded. ‘I didn’t want to leave them. They are so lost.’

‘Any more news?’ I asked as he ushered us into the kitchen.

Empty teacups were piled by the sink, testament to many visitors. Used to making herself at home, Julie emptied the teapot of cold tea and put on the kettle to make another. I filled the sink and started to wash up.

Ronan sat, shaking his head, staring into the middle distance. Trying to find the words he needed.