‘It’s coming off, see.’ Kelly pauses to look over her shoulder at Fran, as she stands silently behind us, her thumb pressed against her lips as she bites at the skin around the nail. Kelly and I are crouched next to a bucket of hot, soapy water, scrubbing at the offensive stain on the fence. I feel sick every time I look at it, the idea that someone in our community felt it was OK to do this.

‘It was probably kids,’ Kelly says, catching the look on my face as I scrub hard, soap suds drifting down my wrist and soaking my sleeve. ‘Try not to read too much into it.’

‘Try not to read too much into it?’ Dominic snarls, as he paces behind us, his face pale, his breath coming in angry gasps. ‘This is your fault, you know that?’

I flinch at his words, thinking they are aimed at me, but Kelly rises to her feet, her knees clicking awkwardly as she stands.

‘Dominic, please.’ She splays her hands in a gesture designed to calm him. ‘This is purely . . .’

‘Purely your bloody fault!’ Dominic halts in front of her, pointing a shaking finger in her face, ‘If you hadn’t made us do that TV appeal maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I told you a TV appeal would make people point the finger at us – didn’t I say that, Fran? And you could have stopped that bloody psychic coming to the house – don’t think I didn’t see the front page of the papers, telling the world she was here! Now look – you should be out there searching for whoever took our daughter, not here scrubbing that shit off the fence.’ He shoves his way back through the gate and marches up the path towards the house.

‘And there he goes, storming off again,’ Fran sighs, her arms wrapped around her skinny frame as if trying to keep warm. ‘We won’t see him for hours again now. Have you noticed that?’ Her voice is almost dreamy, her eyes blank. ‘He storms off and goes to God knows where for hours, leaving me to deal with everything on my own. He should be here, with me, waiting for Laurel to come home.’ She blinks, and a tear rolls down one cheek. I get to my feet, my thighs protesting.

‘Come inside. It’s freezing out here.’ I guide her towards the gate, glancing back at Kelly who nods. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’

Fran is right – Dominic’s car is gone, and when we re-enter the house, it’s empty. I set about making the tea, Fran sitting silently at the table, any animation from Margaret’s visit has been washed away by the offensive graffiti on the fence. The shrill ring of the telephone makes me jump, and Fran pushes herself to her feet, but I wave her back down.