The light is fading in the hallway, the sun lowering in the sky to leave the usually airy space dark and gloomy as I sit on the bottom stair, stiff from holding the same position for goodness knows how long. The idea that Fran has been lying has my brain fizzing, my thoughts jumping all over the place. I force myself up to standing, my knees twinging, stiff and sore as I do, and I head into the kitchen where I run the cold tap, holding my wrists beneath the icy water for a moment before leaning over and splashing my face, droplets rising up and landing in my hair. Has Fran really been lying all this time? Does she know something about Laurel’s disappearance?

I scrub my face dry with a clean tea towel, the rough fibres scratching at my skin and leaving my cheeks red and hot, and my brain still just as confused as it was before. Heading upstairs, I enter my old bedroom, everything is exactly as I left it, even down to the used coffee mug on the bedside table that I had forgotten to bring down before I left. I move it to the windowsill, turning my nose up at the thick layer of mould that floats atop the dregs of coffee. Turning my attention to the wardrobe, I drag out the small suitcase that I left in the bottom and start to throw in the few items of clothing I left behind – a hoody, some thick socks, several thin summer dresses – all the time telling myself that I’m wrong. That Pamela is wrong. That Fran’s mother simply got her dates confused – maybe she’s losing track of things, now that she’s elderly.

At that thought I stop, lowering myself on to the bed, a thin summer cardigan in my hands. Come on, Anna. Even if she is elderly she’s not likely to forget that her granddaughter has gone missing. It’s no good. I can’t ignore this, something about Fran isn’t right, and I need to find out what it is – especially if it means that Dominic didn’t do this after all. Shoving the cardigan into the suitcase, I yank the zip closed and drag it to the top of the stairs. Once I’m finished I won’t ever return to this house, not even if they do find Laurel. For all the expensive décor, the luxury candles dotted around, the ridiculously expensive gadgets, this house isn’t a home – it’s toxic, a bed of lies, and now I can’t wait to get away.