‘But she sent me photographs from Afghanistan.’ Claire got up and grabbed her iPad from the kitchen worktop. ‘She’s been on five tours. I looked after Jane for three of them.’ Claire passed the iPad to her brother. The picture on the screen was of Lana squatting in camouflage trousers and a sand-coloured T-shirt beside two male colleagues, all holding cigarettes and smiling into the camera.

‘Can you send me this?’

Claire took the iPad back and tapped the screen a few times. ‘Done.’

‘This is going to sound weird – and I don’t want you to panic – but would you say there’s anything sinister about Lana?’

‘Sinister?’

‘You know. Dark and twisty. Fucked up. That type of thing.’

‘She’s certainly dark and twisty. She’s a bit fucked up – lots of drink and drugs – but I’ve always thought she was suffering from PTSD. She said she had PTSD. That she’d seen some terrible shit and that it changes a person.’

‘But she hadn’t seen anything. Did she ever show guilt?’

Claire shrugged. ‘I’m sure she did feel guilty.’

‘But did she show it?’

‘What are you getting at, Marcus? Stop being cryptic and spit it out.’

Jameson shook his head. ‘I can’t, sis. Not until we know more. It wouldn’t be fair on Lana or Jane. Last question though: what do you know about Lana’s past? Where did she live before she moved here? I’ve been trying to track down Jane’s father but I don’t even know his name.’

‘I’ve got his name somewhere. Lana gave me Jane’s birth certificate years ago. I needed to get her a passport.’

Jameson raised his eyebrows quizzically.

‘She was staying with us one summer and we were planning a holiday. Give me a minute. I’ve still got it upstairs, I think.’ Claire got up and left the room.

Jameson waited, hoping he hadn’t given too much away. There was still a chance that Bloom was wrong about this. They might not have to tell Jane that her mother was a psychopath.

Claire came back into the room with a long slip of pink paper. ‘Here you go. I knew I had it.’

Jameson took the birth certificate, wishing he was as organized as his sister. Their mother was the same. He skimmed the page and there, beside the word ‘Father’, it said ‘Thomas Lake’.

As Jameson opened his car door, he saw a familiar figure sitting on the wall in front of Claire’s neighbour’s house.

‘Claire said you’d gone into town with your friends.’

Jane looked at him with swollen red eyes.

He sat down on the wall beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I heard Claire on the phone to you earlier. You wanted to speak to her without me there. Mum’s dead, isn’t she?’