She heads straight to the front of the church and fumbles in her pocket, pulling out a pound coin that she throws into a tin before helping herself to a candle. I stand there silently as she lights it, her head slightly bowed, the lights from above reflecting on her hair. She presses her hands together in front of her mouth and closes her eyes, whispering to herself (or to God) fervently. Awkwardly, I glance around the church while I wait for Fran to finish, the musty aroma that seems to fill every church I’ve ever been in making me want to sneeze. Finally, Fran opens her eyes and turns, making her way to the empty pew behind us. She slides in and then taps the seat next to her for me to sit.

‘It’s so peaceful, isn’t it?’ she says, her eyes fixed on the lit candle ahead of us. ‘I find it easier to think here.’ So, I was right – she has been here before.

‘I didn’t think you and Dominic were especially religious,’ I say, cautiously.

‘Oh no, we’re not, not really. Can you see Dominic putting God before his patients? That’s why we never go on a Sunday.’ Fran gives a small smile, casting her eyes down and clasping her hands in front of her, almost as if she’s playing a part. I can practically see her on the screen, portraying the devout, religious mother. ‘I’ve just found it gives me some peace, to come here and think about Laurel. The vicar has offered to hold a service to pray for her safe return.’

I say nothing, unsure of what to think. In Scotland, church was a big part of family life. Today is the first day I have set foot in a church since I left the village, and it doesn’t feel peaceful, or calming to me. It feels claustrophobic and stifling.

‘Anna . . .’ Fran speaks, but keeps her eyes straight ahead on the flame of the candle. ‘You would tell me, wouldn’t you, if you thought Dominic was keeping a secret from me?’

Shit. I shuffle my feet slightly, if only to reassure myself the ground hasn’t fallen away beneath me.

‘What do you mean?’ I stall.

‘I . . . I think he’s hiding something from me, but I don’t know what. I thought maybe . . . no, I am pretty sure he’s having an affair, but I think there’s more to it than that.’

I bite down on my lower lip, frantically thinking how best to respond, but Fran doesn’t wait for me to speak.

‘I mean, why would he be so desperate to go back to work? I know his job is important, and life-saving and everything he constantly rams down my throat about it, but Laurel is his daughter! How can he think about work at a time like this?’ She turns to me, eyes shining with unshed tears.