I wake with a jolt a short while later, the words, it’s your fault, ringing in my ears, as though some unseen person had leaned over me in my sleep, whispering them into my ear. Thirst scratches at the back of my throat and my mouth is furred and dry, sweat coating my skin. I fell asleep without meaning to, my dreams full of Scotland and of Laurel, me chasing her along the slippery, wet rocks alongside Dochart Falls, trying to catch up to her before I lost her. There is salt on my lips when I run my tongue over them, and I realise I must have cried in my sleep, my eyes feeling heavy and sore. I tug off the hot, woolly socks that itch at my ankles, and after rinsing my face with cold water, I head downstairs, desperate for a tall glass of water – and to see if Kelly has any news following the appeal. Voices reach me before I manage to get to the kitchen and I pause in the dimly lit hallway, the wooden floor cool against my bare feet.

‘Why though, Dominic?’ Fran is saying, and as I peep through a crack in the doorway I can see her pacing backwards and forwards across the kitchen floor, a glass of white wine in her hand. She seems agitated as she takes a furious sip.

‘Jesus, Fran . . .’ Dominic pushes a hand through his hair in a well-worn gesture, ‘why can’t you just drop it? It’s not important in the scheme of things . . . you do realise our daughter is missing?’

‘Do I realise?’ There is an ugly sneering tone in Fran’s voice. ‘Of course I bloody realise, Dominic. This is why this is important! Why can’t you just tell the truth?’

I stand stock still.

‘I told you, I am telling the truth. Why would I lie? Do you think I don’t want Laurel to be found? Seriously, Fran, you’re even more fucked up than I thought you were.’ I hear the fridge door slam shut, and the glug as it sounds as though more wine is poured.

‘I know you weren’t at the hospital on Saturday night, Dominic.’ Pure hate fills Fran’s voice. ‘Maybe I should call Pamela, and see where she was? Eh? Maybe that is closer to the truth.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Fran, will you shut up.’ Through the crack in the door I see him stride towards Fran and grab her by the upper arms, causing her glass to fall and smash on the kitchen tiles. He thrusts his face close to hers, his cheeks flushing a violent red, spittle flying from his mouth as he shouts into her shocked face.