‘She is my mother,’ Sean retorted weakly. ‘I’m going for a shower.’ He stripped off his clothes, and Helen gazed at his body, as familiar as her own, a T-shirt tan and the skin underneath fish-bellied pale and hairy, his flaccid penis small and vulnerable. She felt a rush of affection and lust, craving the oblivion of sex, the comfort of arousal. She was just contemplating following him into the shower when he turned at the bathroom door.

‘Have you told your dad, by the way? About Frankie?’

As if there was something else more important.

Helen sighed. ‘No. Not yet. Don’t want to worry him.’

‘You should, you know.’

‘I know. But there’s nothing he could do. And God forbid he suddenly show up on our doorstep too. One troublesome in-law’s enough, surely.’

The thought of her dad was enough to successfully quell any burgeoning lust she had vaguely entertained. Sean had gone into the shower, and she left him to it. As soon as she heard the water running, she dashed back to Facebook and refreshed the screen. A new message from Janet Friars! She clicked on it.

‘It’s difficult at the moment as I have no money and they’re watching me, can’t go to police. I will meet you on Thursday at 2.’

Helen’s heart sank. So that was most likely it – Janet Friars was already mentioning money. She was bound to be some callous chancer trying to extort cash from her. Thursday was two days away and she couldn’t wait that long. She wrote a message back:

You know The Sun have offered a £100k reward? Why don’t you tell the police what you know, then you might get that? Wouldn’t that be a better way to go about it?

Then she deleted it, holding her finger on the back arrow key and watching the letters be swallowed up by the thin black cursor. It made her feel sick, to think that she was potentially bartering for her daughter’s life. She typed a new sentence.

How do I know you are genuine? If you really do have information, why haven’t you told the police?

Duh, she thought, and deleted it again. If the person was genuine, then they really would be in fear of the repercussions of talking to her. She wrote one final sentence: Give me some proof before we go any further, or I’m telling the police, and sent it.