‘She was at the school the first morning that they were searching for Laurel,’ I say. ‘I got talking to her. Her name is Ella, and she moved back to the area a short while ago. She went to school with Dominic. She was quite concerned when she heard about Laurel, said she wanted to help look for her.’

‘Ella?’ Fran lets out a screech of laughter. ‘Is that what she’s calling herself?’ She scrolls up the Facebook page to show the profile picture and name, and my heart sinks in my chest.

‘Pamela?’ I whisper. Unable to believe what I’m seeing, I yank the laptop towards me, peering closely at the screen.

‘Yes,’ Fran bites back, ‘Pamela. Bloody, bloody Pamela. Popping up exactly where you least expect her.’

‘Is this . . .? Is she Dominic’s Pamela?’ I already know the answer, as I scroll down to see a picture of a younger Ella, her face squashed against Dominic’s as they both grin wildly at the camera. It’s the same picture I once found tucked inside an old copy of Rebecca I had borrowed from Dominic. A picture I hadn’t given any thought to at the time, aside from a passing curiosity. No wonder I thought her face looked vaguely familiar. I feel the sharp bite of betrayal as I think about the way she struck up a conversation with me that first day, telling me she knew Dominic from before. The way she lurked in the hedges last night, all under the pretence that she was my friend, that she was looking out for me, when really, she was only spying on the Jessops.

‘Of course, she’s Dominic’s Pamela. And she’s been hanging around, getting friendly with you?’ Fran stares at me. ‘What did you tell her, Anna? Have you been reporting back to her? Does she know something about what happened to Laurel?’ A note of hysteria has crept into her voice, and I rush to reassure her.

‘No, Fran, I swear, I had no idea.’ I look back at the photo on the screen. It is unmistakably her. Thank goodness I never confided anything in her. ‘She just . . .’

‘You don’t know the full story, Anna.’ Fran’s voice thickens even though her eyes are still dry. ‘You do know they were together before? Pamela and Dominic?’

‘Yes, you told me that. But honestly, Fran, I don’t think she’s had anything to do with Laurel’s disappearance.’

‘Just listen.’ Fran is impatient, keen to tell me the story. ‘They were childhood sweethearts, engaged to be married, but Dominic kept putting it off. You know Dom, the hospital comes first.’ She takes a sip of her coffee, her eyes never leaving mine. ‘So, one day they have a row and Dominic tells her that it’s over. He doesn’t want to get married. He throws her out of the house . . .’