She started to speak before I did.

‘Look, I know you think I’m the enemy here, but I’m not. Really, I’m on your side, and the side of getting the truth out there. I can help you to control what information does get out about Laura and her tragic death, and you must believe me when I tell you that this information is going to come out, one way or another; whether or not you speak to me. And that’s not meant as a threat – not at all. You do know that Clare Taylor knew your daughter, don’t you? And the other two women who received flowers yesterday? They went to school together. I went to the same school, but a few years after, of course.’

I blinked. I didn’t know. Yes, Laura had mentioned a Clare, but there were so many of them in her year group. There was no way I could have made that link.

‘I knew there were Clares in her year. It was a very popular name at the time,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think Laura had any friends by that name.’

‘They were in the same class,’ Ingrid said. ‘As were the other two girls who received flowers yesterday. Rachel McCay and Julie Diver, as they were then. Clare, Rachel and Julie were best friends – they still are, or were.’

I remembered, vaguely, those names when grouped together. Laura had never really been one to talk about her school friends. She was quiet, shy. Had preferred to stay at home with her family than to go into town with friends each weekend. Occasionally she brought a friend home for tea, but I was pretty sure she’d never brought a Clare, or a Rachel or a Julie home. I was pretty sure they hadn’t been in her peer group – not that she’d kept much of a peer group. She’d always been happier lost in a book or trailing around after her father down in the fields, before Paddy had to admit farming was no longer profitable for us.

I’d always been proud of her that she never felt the need to conform to what the other girls were doing. She didn’t show much of an interest in make-up. Wasn’t one for wanting to go to discos. I never had to worry about her being found drunk on the city walls or outside The Venue on a Saturday night. It had made my life so much easier. Maybe I should have worried more, but she was my ‘easy’ child. And it was easy for me to let her slip through the net – my attentions being dominated by her infinitely more gregarious brother.

‘Elizabeth,’ Ingrid said, bringing me back to myself. ‘Do you remember Clare from then? Or the other girls?’

‘I can’t say that I do.’