Further ahead, a single light is visible through the trees. Maybe I didn’t put the postcode in wrong, after all. My heart beating a jumpy tattoo in my chest, I carry on along the rough track until the cottage comes into view. There is a dark-coloured car parked in front of the stone cottage, and for one brief, heart-stopping moment I think it is Dominic’s car, before I realise that it’s a slightly different shape, a Volkswagen badge gleaming on the back as my headlights flash across it. I pull up next to it, and tucking the sock into my jeans pocket, I snatch up Bom, Laurel’s stuffed tiger, and step out of the car.

It feels good to stretch after more than three hours hunched over the steering wheel, and the air is briskly cold against my face after the warmth of the car heater. There is the faint smell of the sea on the air, even though it feels as though I am tucked away in a forest, and I breathe deeply for a moment, trying to clear my head before I step forward, until I’m standing under a tiny porch light and raise my fist to knock on the door.

There is no answer, and I flick my wrist round to check the time on my watch. Ten past nine. I made good time, the hour of night meaning that I didn’t hit any traffic on the way up. It’s still early – Fran has always been a night owl, often out at events and shows in the evenings, not returning home till the early hours of the morning, then sleeping the day away, sometimes only waking just before Laurel came home from school. Maybe this isn’t the right place – maybe Fran isn’t here at all, and the postcode and the initial had nothing to do with Polly. No. There’s no such thing as coincidence. I raise my fist and bang on the door again, and this time I hear scuffling behind the door, a whispering, as though there is a debate as to whether the door should be opened or not. Just as I am wavering, sure that I have got the wrong place, the door creaks open and I see Fran peering out, lit by the soft lamplight behind her.

‘Anna!’ She steps forward, pulling the door closed behind her, one arm behind her back. ‘What . . .’ She frowns, a red flush creeping up her neck before she clears her throat. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’