‘No, but . . .’ I watch as she reaches for her thick ski jacket, shoving her arms into it and pulling a grey woollen hat out of the pocket, feeling a little uneasy at the way she is behaving as usual. ‘I thought maybe you’d want to give it a miss this year, seeing as Laurel isn’t here?’

Fran stops, her blue eyes icy cold as she stares at me. ‘She’s not here now, today, Anna but she might be by Christmas Day. She’d want a tree. And besides . . .’ she clears her throat, ‘it helps. To feel a bit normal, you know? After everything.’

I say nothing, but reach for my own jacket, my skin prickling uncomfortably as I note that she still calls me Anna. There is still no sign of Dominic, and Fran doesn’t mention him. It feels wrong to be carrying on like nothing has happened, as though Laurel will come barrelling downstairs at any moment, demanding that I help her with her boots, singing Christmas carols in an off-key voice that always makes me smile. Fran is still the boss, whether Laurel is here or not, so I pull on my coat and follow her outside.

It takes all day to find the ideal tree. It’s perfect winter weather – the sun is shining, and frost crackles under our feet as we arrive at the Christmas tree farm, eventually thawing to leave a clear, crisp day. My feet are numb as we eventually choose our tree, the tree that Fran declares ‘The One’ and she pays for it, arranging with the manager to have it delivered to the house. I’ve tried my hardest to engage with her today, to offer an opinion when asked, but I can’t help feeling that this was all a pointless exercise, something to make Fran feel better, more normal. I am waking up to the fact that Laurel not being here is the new normal – might be the only normal that we know from now on. The idea of getting away from here, going home, or even further afield, is more and more appealing, but I’m concerned about broaching the subject with Fran just yet, especially after our row yesterday and while the media are still circling. I don’t want to look as though I’m running away – I have nothing to run away from this time. Fran doesn’t talk much on the way home, and I don’t try to fill the silence.

As we approach the house we see DS Wright waiting on the doorstep, in the dusky twilight, her breath reaching out in smoky plumes as she runs a hand over her hair.

‘Oh.’ Fran stops, and I almost crash into her. ‘DS Wright.’

‘Fran. Can I come in?’ She looks frozen, the tip of her nose a bright pink. Kelly stands beside her, her eyes looking everywhere except at Fran.