‘Please, bring her home. We love her and miss her so much. Life isn’t the same without her. We need her home, so please, please let her come back to us.’ His voice is calm and steady, and he gently squeezes Fran’s shoulder as they turn to come back indoors.

I turn my gaze back to Wright as they return to the house, her eyes never leaving them, a slight crease between her eyebrows showing that perhaps she isn’t entirely happy with what she’s just witnessed. Kelly catches my eye, before looking away and gently steering a weeping Fran towards the stairs. Something about this TV appeal feels different to the last one, and not only because I watched the last one from the safety of the screen. I look back at DS Wright, where she stands still looking at the house, her hands twisting the lid on a bottle of mineral water. It’s almost as though the perspective has changed. I close the blinds on her, obscuring her from view, blocking out the camera flashes and baying calls of the press. It’s almost as though Wright’s eyes are now on us.

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 19

It is early the next morning, so early the sun is barely over the horizon, when a thumping at the door rouses me from a restless sleep. The house is cold, the heating not yet kicked in, and I shiver as I pull on a dressing gown and head downstairs. Dominic is at the front door, his hair mussed on one side as he pulls the door open to reveal DS Wright and several police officers standing behind her. There is a clamour from the press that still congregate outside, flashbulbs popping as Dominic squints, one hand rising to shield his face. Drawing back, pressing myself against the wall of the staircase, I wonder if the press knew the police were coming, or whether they just didn’t go home after the Jessops’ statement yesterday. I hear a gasp behind me, and I turn to see Fran at the top of the stairs, her hand to her throat.

‘Is it . . .’ Her voice is shrill, sending a shiver down my spine as the chill wind blows in through the open front door, wrapping itself around my bare legs.

‘No, no news on Laurel.’ Wright steps into the entrance hall as Dominic stands to one side letting the officers file into the hallway. ‘Sorry to wake you.’

‘What exactly . . .?’ Dominic says, as Fran asks, ‘What the hell is going on?’ She pushes past me on the stairs and comes to stand beside Dominic. She looks tiny next to his six-foot frame, in her pyjamas and bare feet. While Dominic’s face is flushed, Fran’s is deathly pale, any slight colour she might have had in her cheeks draining away to leave her white and pasty.