‘I . . .’ I stutter, words not ready to come. I hadn’t thought about what I would say when I saw Fran, my thoughts jumbled and tangled and as I see her in front of me for the first time in weeks, I falter, not sure that she could ever have done the things I’ve been accusing her of in my mind on the journey here. ‘I went to the house today.’ It feels like days ago already. ‘I found this.’ Remembering that I am clutching Bom against my chest, I hold him out to her like some sort of offering.

‘Oh.’ Fran blinks. ‘I forgot all about Bom.’ She takes him from me, almost snatching him out of my hands.

‘Fran, listen . . . I need to talk to you, it’s important.’ The words burst out before I can stop them. I’ve come all this way, I need some answers.

‘Thank you, Anna, I appreciate you driving all this way just to hand over Bom, but you really didn’t need to. You should be heading back. It’s getting late.’ Fran’s voice is icy cold, and it’s as though I haven’t even spoken. She steps back, ready to push the front door closed.

‘What? Fran, I need to talk to you, it’s really, really important. You can’t make me leave.’ I step forward, planting my foot between the door and the frame.

‘Anna. Just go. Please. At least respect my privacy now Dominic is gone. For Laurel’s sake.’ Glancing behind her she moves back as though to slam the door. She’s not so innocent. The sound of Laurel’s name on her lips ignites a spark of rage deep down in my belly, and without thinking I throw out a hand and shove hard, sending Fran stumbling backwards into the dimly lit hallway.

I step inside, the warmth of the open fire in the room to the left reaching my cold cheeks and making them burn a bright pink. ‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, Fran.’

‘What do you mean?’ She looks at me warily, one hand to her throat.

‘We need to talk about Dominic. About what happened the night Laurel went missing. About all of it.’

‘Why? You know what happened, for God’s sake, Anna, Charlie . . . whatever you want to call yourself, you were there!’ She looks past me to the stairs before she lowers her voice. ‘You were there,’ she hisses, ‘there’s nothing to talk about.’

‘There is though, Fran,’ I say quietly, convinced now that Polly must be upstairs. I keep my voice down, not wanting her to come down and throw me out. ‘Things don’t add up.’