Ruth lets out a bitter bark of laughter, and I can almost taste the toxic poison radiating out of her every pore. ‘You didn’t deserve to have Laurel. She was the most precious thing you had, and you lost her because you couldn’t be bothered to look after her properly. You never bothered to turn up to watch her in school plays, you never took her to the park, or spent quality time with her – that’s why you hired Anna. You’re thoughtless when it comes to other people, Fran. I thought maybe you’d be different now, but you’re not. Careless, that’s what you are.’

I watch as Fran’s face seems to crumple in on itself, pain etched into every feature. ‘Ruth, please, that’s enough.’

‘I’m thoughtless?’ Fran gets to her feet, stumbling slightly. ‘Don’t you understand what you’ve done? How could you ever think that I could let you in? Oh my God, the phone call . . . the dropped calls and then that call where I was told it was my fault . . . do you remember, Anna? That was you too, wasn’t it?’

Ruth nods, but her bravado seems to have fled, as she stares shamefaced at her feet. ‘I only wanted to help you, Fran. I don’t know why you wouldn’t let me help. I just wanted to be there for you . . . for Laurel.’

‘Do you know where she is?’ Fran demands, stepping towards Ruth, white-hot rage pouring off her in waves. ‘Did you have something to do with this?’

‘No, I . . .’ Ruth steps back, hands raised as if to ward Fran off. ‘I told you, all I ever wanted was to be your friend.’

‘Come on, Ruth, time to leave.’ Kelly has appeared beside Ruth, holding her elbow in a vice-like grip.

‘Get her out of here,’ Fran says.

As soon as Ruth leaves, guided by Kelly, the charged atmosphere dissipates, but I am shaking, my nerves feeling as though they are barely below the surface of my skin. Fran has shoved her chair back and is fumbling with the key to the back door with one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other. I follow her out to the back garden, shivering as the chill air meets my bare feet.

‘Jesus.’ My breath plumes out in great clouds of smoke in front of me. ‘She is . . . crazy.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Fran takes a huge drag on her cigarette, coughing as the smoke hits her lungs, ‘it looks as though I was right not to let her in. I mean, she said I shut her out years ago? I didn’t even realise who she was, not until just now, when I twigged she was Ruth Burns. Christ. I don’t know what to think.’