Helen wondered idly if she’d be in trouble with the police, for not telling them about the message. She didn’t care. They were bound to think it was a hoax, and it would break her heart if they didn’t look into it. The FLO’s words ‘nutters on Facebook’ kept ringing around her head, but she knew that she would personally respond to every single message she received from anyone saying they knew anything about Frankie’s whereabouts.

Helen half-listened to Eileen’s voice, floating up through the floorboards, somehow managing to sound both lilting and grating, going on and on, first to Lennon – God knows what the DI had found to ask her about when she hadn’t seen her granddaughter for over eighteen months of Frankie’s short life, and knew nothing about her routine or likes and dislikes – and then, after Lennon left, to Sean. Helen could tell, by the hectoring tone that had entered Eileen’s voice. She gritted her teeth. Poor Sean. The one thing that united her small family more than anything else was their mutual antipathy towards her mother-in-law, the racist cow. Her own late mum, Winnie, had refused to ever speak to Eileen again after their first meeting when Eileen had informed Winnie that ‘the blacks’ were taking all the good jobs.

This antipathy was reconfirmed when Sean came stomping up the stairs. Helen softly called out to him, and he came into the bedroom and sat heavily down on the unmade bed next to her. His face was white and exhausted.

‘As if things aren’t already disastrous enough,’ he said, rubbing his face vigorously with the palm of his hand as though washing it. ‘She has to turn up. She’s a vulture! I bet she loves this – did you see what she was wearing? That’s her best suit, the one she only wears to weddings and parties. She’s only showed up because she thinks she’ll get to be on TV. I’m surprised she wasn’t wearing that fucking awful hat that goes with it.’

Helen hadn’t seen her mother-in-law frequently enough to know what her best suit was, but she had been vaguely aware of the monstrous purple nylon floral two-piece that Eileen was wearing.

‘She’ll never forgive us for not inviting her to the wedding, will she?’

Sean sat on the end of the desk and put his feet up on the side of Helen’s swivel chair. ‘That was five years ago. She needs to get over it. Your folks forgave us, didn’t they? So why can’t she?’

‘They weren’t happy, but yeah, I think they were grateful we spared them the cost of two flights from Cape Town. I wish Mum could’ve been there, though. If I’d known she wouldn’t even be around to meet Frankie . . .’