‘Fran?’ I go to her, but she shakes her head, waving a hand at me. ‘Who was it? What did they say?’

‘I don’t know who it was . . . it was a woman’s voice though. Not one I think I know, but I’m not sure. There was something familiar about it maybe?’ She pulls her hands away from her face and I see she is crying again.

‘But what did they say?’ I ask, a cold finger running its way down my spine.

‘They said . . .’ Fran hiccups, ‘they said that Laurel going missing was all my fault.’

Kelly comes in from the garden, and straight away I tell her about the phone call, despite Fran’s feeble protestations.

‘We can try and trace it if they call again,’ Kelly says, ‘but if it leads back to a pay-as-you-go phone we won’t have much luck finding the caller ID.’

‘It’s probably just a prank,’ I say, trying to make Fran feel better. ‘No one honestly thinks that you had anything to do with Laurel going missing. How could you have done? I was right there with you the whole time.’ I deliberately don’t mention Dominic, and the persistent nagging feeling in my belly that I get every time I think about his absence that night, the way he asked me to not mention it to Fran.

‘Yes. OK.’ I can almost see Fran pulling her big girl pants on to get on with things. ‘I’m going to reply to some of these messages of support that have been left on the “FIND LAUREL” page.’ She pulls up the page and starts scrolling. ‘Oh, there are some lovely ones.’ She smiles as she reads, and Kelly pulls up a chair next to her. It doesn’t take long though for the smile to slide off her face, and for a frown to appear on Kelly’s brow.

‘What is it?’ I ask, scooching round to their side of the table so I can see the screen. To top off everything else that has happened today, there is another message from Lois Burns. Just as vicious and vitriolic as the last.

‘Where were you, Dominic? You should have been there, looking after your kid.’

‘Well done on the acting, Fran. Acting like you could give a shit.’

And then, again, the same as before:

‘Maybe if you’d looked after her properly this wouldn’t have happened. You don’t deserve to have children. Maybe now she’s with someone who does.’

‘Jesus,’ I breathe out, bile scorching the back of my throat. I swallow hastily, before I risk a glance at Fran. ‘That’s just . . .’

‘Horrible.’ Fran’s hand goes to the necklace around her throat. She looks ill, is the only way to describe her, as though the life has been sucked out of her. ‘How could someone say such horrible things?’