I don’t know where to look, so I stare at my feet as I shift them uncomfortably on the spot. Although Fran and I have lived in the same house for three years, and Fran entrusts her daughter to my care every day, we are not friends. Although I share this house with Dominic, Fran and Laurel, this house isn’t my home and I am not really a part of the family. Fran is prickly, aloof, and quite clear where the boundaries lie between us. She is my employer, and I am her employee. This Fran, the Fran that speaks openly, that shrieks at Dominic in fear, that exposes her emotions is a stranger to me.

‘Well,’ I say, for lack of any other response, ‘shall we go downstairs? Kelly is making some tea . . .’

‘More tea.’ Fran tries to muster a smile and fails miserably, before heading for the door, her movements sluggish and slow as if she is weighed down with exhaustion. I follow after her, my socked feet slipping on the polished oak staircase. Kelly is placing three mugs of tea on the table as we enter the kitchen. Fran slides into the nearest chair and wraps her hands around a mug as if to soak up the warmth.

‘Fran,’ I say, my stomach full of butterflies. Please let Laurel be coming home. ‘I went to the field this morning . . .’

‘Yes, I know.’ For a second I catch a glimpse of the old Fran – brittle, impatient Fran – before her shoulders round and she almost seems to shrink in her chair. ‘I assumed . . . wait. Did something happen?’ Her eyes flick between me and Kelly and all of a sudden, I can’t tell her. I look at Kelly, and she takes the hint.

‘Fran, there’s something I should let you know. Something was found in the meadow behind the field.’

‘What?’ Fran’s voice has a tremor to it that almost sounds false and I feel a tiny bubble of inappropriate nervous laughter prick in my chest. ‘What did they find?’

‘I saw something,’ I step in, the chill of the house settling into my bones, and I wish I’d thought to flick the heating back on. ‘In the meadow . . . there are caravans parked up there. I saw a blonde girl sitting in the window of one. I told Dove and he’s gone there now, I mean, the men I saw were dark, all black hair and tanned skin, so why would there be a blonde girl with . . .’ I trail off, as the blood drains from Fran’s face.

‘So, she could be there? She’s in the meadow?’

‘We don’t know.’ Kelly lays a hand on Fran’s arm, who pulls away as though burnt. ‘Officers have gone to the scene and as soon as they know something, they’ll tell us.’