We head back to the house in silence, me walking a little way behind in an attempt to avoid any cameras, as the press take some final snaps of Fran and Dominic. As we leave, Jessika comes over and offers to walk back with me, but I shake my head, not feeling able to make conversation with her even though I know she won’t be expecting anything from me. Although relief floods through all of us, there is still the thought that now we are back at square one – no one knows where Laurel is, and no one knows who has taken her.

The mood is heavy and sombre, and I scuttle away into the kitchen on the pretence of making a pot of tea, but really, I just want to be alone to process how I feel about things. Of course I didn’t want them to find anything in the lake, but where do we go from here? What happens next? With Laurel gone for six days already, we are well outside the so-called crucial twenty-four hours. All the police have to go on so far is a witness saying they saw Laurel getting into a dark-coloured car. We don’t even know for definite that it was Laurel. I feel a little as though there is only dead end after dead end and every minute that passes means a minute longer without Laurel. How must Fran be feeling? If I’m feeling like this, it must be ten times worse for Fran, even though she seems to be holding up OK.

My stomach gives a painful lurch as I remember Laurel slipping past me, running after Fran that night, and I let out a long exhale, trying and failing to squash the guilt that twists in my gut. In addition to the worry about Laurel, I also have the burden of the secret from my past that weighs heavy on my shoulders and I battle for control for a moment as shame and self-loathing swamps me. I snatch up Fran’s £200 Arne Jacobsen teapot from Harrods and turn on the tap, pouring the boiling water over the tea leaves in the bottom of the pot.

I should never have taken the job with the Jessops. I never should have let that old boyfriend persuade me that things would be OK – although even he doesn’t know the full story of why I came back from Scotland. Rephrase that – why I slinked home from Scotland without telling anyone, not even my own mother. Would it look suspicious if I were to leave them now? To say thanks but no thanks, the job isn’t for me, I can’t do this anymore? But then what about Laurel? I blink back hot tears. Could I really leave without knowing what has happened to her?