‘If he’s married, and is cheating, I’ve no sympathy for him,’ Julie sniffed. ‘I hope he gets hauled in front of the media. Scumbag.’

A shiver ran through me. What would they think if they knew about Michael and me?

Chapter Nine

Elizabeth

I lifted my keys and told Izzy I wouldn’t be long. She looked at me mournfully, wanting to go on an adventure with me. But this wasn’t much of an adventure. This was just something I felt I had to do.

I’d been the last person to speak with Clare Taylor. If I could bring an ounce of comfort to her parents, it was only right that I did so.

I hadn’t been able to speak to DI Bradley that morning. He was busy, which was hardly surprising. But I had been able to speak to a friendly-sounding woman called Patricia Hopkins, the family liaison officer, and she’d okayed it for me to call round to the Taylor household. She’d be there to meet me, she said. ‘I think it really could help them greatly to know their daughter wasn’t alone when she passed,’ she said, which is exactly what I’d hoped she’d say.

Still, my heart was thumping when I arrived outside their house and saw the street lined with cars. There were huddles of photographers and reporters standing around, dressed in summer frocks and short-sleeved shirts. There was an air of informality to it that I didn’t care for. I saw some laugh as they talked to each other, slugging from bottles of cool water. I knew they were only doing their jobs but it felt ghoulish. They were waiting for a soundbite of misery. I’m sure they couldn’t have enjoyed it all that much, either. I’d seen reporters over the years breaking down under the pressure of covering some of those horrific atrocities.

I nodded an acknowledgement in their direction, wondered if they’d come running to me for a statement. Then again, they didn’t know who I was. What I’d seen. How I’d held her hand. If only they knew, they’d be all over me. I kept my head down, hoped that the natural invisibility that seemed to come with being a woman of a certain age would stop me from beeping on their radar.

They say you know you’re getting on in years when policemen and doctors start to look unconscionably young. The uniformed police officer at the door of the Taylors’ house looked as if he had yet to start shaving. He’d a nervous disposition about him, a natural air of suspicion in how he looked me up and down. It was laughable, really. It was hardly as if I posed any kind of threat to him.

I introduced myself as Mrs O’Loughlin, asked to speak with Constable Hopkins, the FLO – as Patricia had directed.