“Hey, you’re not the idiot, she is,” I say. My hand is suddenly on her shoulder; it feels important she believes me. She glances at it before I pull it awkwardly away. “But I think you’re wrong about one thing—she clearly did give a shit.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, you heard how defensive she was, asking us what we know.” It’s like hearing the old me talking when I’d just had a breakthrough on a story. A familiar feeling, like bubbles bursting, lifts into my stomach.

Next to me, Cara’s biting her lip, and frowns towards the office as she says, “She was a bit weird, wasn’t she? It was like she was hiding something and was worried we’d find out about it.”

“I think you might be right. You’ve got good instincts.”

She tries to smother the smile that flickers across her face but she’s not quick enough. “You think so?”

I nod. “You need sharp instincts to be a decent journalist, and instinct is something that can’t be taught.”

Cara glows a little and I feel the first drops of rain on my cheek.

“Shall we get going?” I say.

Cara nods and we start walking in silence, but before we get to the car she stops by another bench and asks, apropos of nothing, “Why are you doing this?”

“I told you already: I want to find Grace, or at least help if I can.”

“Because you messed up before?”

“Partly, yeah. But mostly because I just want to help.”

“And you’re not helping because you want to write an article?”

I lift my gaze to the sky so I don’t have to look her in the eye. “I want to find Grace. I want to find Grace soon, while she’s still alive.”

Cara looks directly at me as she says, “Will you let me help?”

“Cara, I’m not sure that’s such a good—”

“You said yourself just now I’ve got good instincts.”

“Cara, I don’t want to get you involved in all of this . . .”

She looks crestfallen, thin, and dejected standing in the rain.

“It’s really going to bucket down. We should get back to the car.”

Cara blinks a few times, as though trying to chase a thought away, before she shrugs and starts walking towards the car.

The traffic looks heavy all the way to Resthaven Nursing Home, the roads like blocked arteries. We join the queue as raindrops hammer the windshield. Cara turns the radio on again and is staring out of the window when my phone starts vibrating. I shuffle it awkwardly out of my pocket, balancing it on my thigh as I hit the speaker icon.

“Dad? Dad? You there?”

“Hi, mate! I’m here, how you doing?”

“Dad, Mum says I’m not allowed to play World of Warcraft anymore, which is really unfair because everyone, everyone at school is on it and I’d just started chatting to this kid who lives in Hong Kong and he’s going to tell me this secret about how to get past—”