‘Sit down, I’ll get it.’ The landline rarely rings. I head out to the hallway and lift the receiver.

‘Hello?’ There is no response, merely the hiss of static on the line. ‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ My heart starts to bang in my chest, my ears straining for any little noise. ‘Is someone there?’ Nothing. The line goes dead in my hand. Fran looks up as I walk back into the kitchen.

‘Who was it?’

‘No one. There was no one there. Maybe a wrong number?’ I say, even though I don’t think it was. And there was someone at the end of the line, I thought I could make out their breathing. ‘Maybe we could check the Facebook page, while we wait for Kelly to finish with the fence?’ Perhaps reading some of the supportive messages will reassure Fran that people do love Laurel, and that they aren’t all against the Jessops.

‘OK.’ Fran logs into the laptop and pulls up Facebook just as the telephone begins to ring again.

‘I’ll go.’ I hurry out to the hallway and snatch the phone up again, pressing it hard to my ear. ‘Hello?’ Static again, the faint whistle of breath going in and out. ‘Hello? Who is this? Seriously, what do you want?’ Ransom. The word floats across my mind and my stomach flips. What if it’s the person who has Laurel? What if they’re calling to demand money? There is no response on the end of the line, and a few short seconds later the dial tone sounds in my ear. I walk slowly back into the kitchen and Fran looks at me closely.

‘Well? Who was it this time?’

‘The same again. No one there. But I could hear them breathing.’ I take a seat next to her and pretend that the dead calls haven’t unnerved me. ‘Let’s check the page, shall we?’

‘Do you think it has something to do with Laurel, the dead calls?’ Fran asks, leaning forward on her elbows, frowning hard. ‘Ransom, maybe? Kelly should be able to trace the calls, right?’

It’s as if she’s read my thoughts. ‘I guess. I don’t know.’ The Facebook log-in screen loads and I swivel the screen towards Fran, so she can log in. As she types in her password, the telephone starts to ring again and my stomach lurches.

‘I’ll answer it this time.’ Fran shoves her chair back, the feet scraping across the tiled floor and making me wince. I follow her out to the hallway, waiting anxiously as she snatches up the receiver.

‘Hello?’ Her voice is surprisingly firm. ‘Who is this?’ She waits for a second and I hear the muffled tones of the person on the other end of the line. ‘How . . . you utter bitch.’ Her face crumples as she slams the receiver back into the cradle, her hands flying up to cover her eyes.