‘Kelly will be over later, apparently. She had to go to the station for a briefing or something. God knows.’ Fran sighs, and as she types I see she’s bitten her nails down to the quick. She still hates Kelly, still thinks her a nosy snoop and no support for the family. ‘Dominic is upstairs. Asleep.’ Bitterness seeps into her voice and I can see the dark rings under her eyes showing through her make-up. She punches a key on the laptop and I see the screen come to life.

‘Are you working?’ The words tumble out before I can stop them.

‘Huh. No. I’m not Dominic. I’m not ready to start working again, not yet.’ She types rapidly, the screen giving her face an eerie blue glow. I feel like a bit of a spare part this morning, with no Kelly to talk to, no updates to hash over . . . no Laurel to take care of. Things feel like they are slowing down, almost to a stop, and I know that before long Laurel will fade from everyone’s memories and something else, something bigger will take over the news. I don’t want that to happen. I finish my water and get to my feet.

‘I might go over to the community centre. I haven’t been for a few days and I’d like to see how they’re getting on over there.’ Fran is silent, her eyes still fixed on the screen. She hasn’t been over to the community centre once to meet the volunteers and see what a brilliant job they’ve been doing. I overheard Kelly asking her if she’d like to, a few days after Laurel went missing, and Fran had simply shaken her head, saying that if she saw all of those people searching then it really would feel like Laurel was lost.

‘OK, I think I’ll stay here. It’s still a little . . . Oh.’ Fran sucks in a deep breath and a look of hurt crosses her face.

‘Fran? Are you OK?’ I come around behind her, peering over her shoulder at what is on her screen. ‘Hey! That’s Ella – do you know her?’

‘Ella?’ Fran twists round in her chair to face me. ‘Do you know this woman?’

‘Well, yes,’ I say, a bit unnerved by the strange look on Fran’s face. As I say it I know immediately that I’ve said the wrong thing. Fran pats the chair next to her and I obediently slide into it, my bare feet cold on the floor.

‘How do you know her?’ Fran’s voice is like the cold blade of a knife against the frayed edges of my nerves.