Everyone is pretty much in the same position as they were last night, when Fran told me roughly to go to bed, that there was nothing I could achieve by staying up. I had refused, wanting to be there if any news came in, wanting to know if Laurel was OK, but her voice had a familiar hard edge to it, one that she uses to remind me that she is the boss, that she is in charge, not me. Instead of doing as I usually would and hurrying away upstairs to my room, I had folded myself into the hard, uncomfortable armchair in the corner of the room, for once daring to disobey Fran. Dominic had given me a tiny smile of solidarity as he watched me tuck my feet up underneath me, making it quite clear that I wasn’t going anywhere, that I would stay awake all night. Obviously, exhaustion had overtaken me at some point, even if it had only been for a few minutes.

Now, my head throbbing so hard it makes me feel queasy, I look to the tableau in front of me. Fran still sits curled into the huge, squashy sofa, while Dominic stares out of the front window. As I follow his gaze I see DS Wright pacing outside the front of the house, mobile phone clamped to her ear. Both parents look exhausted and grey, with slight wrinkles that I’ve never noticed before appearing at the corners of Fran’s eyes.

‘I take it there isn’t any news?’ I ask.

‘No.’ Fran shakes her head and dislodges a tear that runs slowly down her cheek. ‘Nothing.’ The door swings open and a tall, slim girl appears. She gives me a small smile, before asking if anyone would like some tea.

‘You remember DC Barnes, from last night,’ Fran says, her voice dull, as she leans down and picks up the mug of tea, now stone-cold, that I left by her feet an hour or two ago. ‘Apparently as well as a DC, she’s a “family liaison officer”.’ I can hear the quote marks she puts around the words.

‘Would you like a hand in the kitchen, DC Barnes?’ I ask, the atmosphere in the living room suffocating me in the few short minutes I’ve been awake again. She smiles her thanks and I follow her through into the huge, clinically clean kitchen where she looks around for the kettle, confused when she can’t seem to find it.

‘Here.’ I lean past her to the sink, turning on the boiling water tap. ‘No need for a kettle.’

‘Oh, fancy!’ She throws tea bags into the mugs laid out on the counter and starts to fill them. ‘Enough with the DC stuff for now,’ she says, raising her voice over the sound of rushing water. ‘Just call me Kelly. So, you’re Anna? Laurel’s nanny?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you worked for the Jessops for long?’