‘I heard him shout,’ Fran says, before drawing in another deep drag of her cigarette, filling her lungs with smoke. She exhales and lets out a long, steady stream of white before she speaks again. Her eyes water, but I’m unsure if she is crying, or if it’s the smoke. ‘No one ever believes me when I tell them what a temper he has.’

‘He’s under a lot of pressure,’ I say, quietly, secretly a little dizzy at my bravery. I would never have dared say anything to Fran before. ‘You both are.’

‘Oh, you too?’ She huffs out a tiny spiteful laugh, crushing her cigarette under one foot. ‘Got you under his special little surgeon’s spell, has he?’

‘No,’ I say, copying her and squashing my cigarette butt beneath my shoe. ‘It’s not like that. I’m here for both of you.’ I stumble over the words. ‘You’re both going through a terrible, terrible time.’

‘Yes,’ Fran says softly, her eyes filling with tears. ‘We are, aren’t we? What are we going to do, Anna?’ She blinks, and a tear rolls down each cheek.

‘The reconstruction will help,’ I say, trying to inject some positivity into the air. I ignore the comment she made about Dominic – she’s hurting too, after all. She just wants to offload some pain onto others. ‘Something will come of it.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ she says, staring past me into the black, inky darkness of the garden behind me, before she turns her gaze back to me. ‘What if we don’t like what it throws up? And what if . . . what if it’s someone we know?’

Fran’s words haunt me for the rest of the evening and well into the next day. Kelly is in the kitchen when I come down in the morning, and there is a lighter feel to the air for the first time in days.

‘Did something happen?’ I ask, reaching past her for a banana from the fruit bowl. Fran and Dominic both perch at the breakfast bar, a plate bearing toast crumbs in front of Dominic, while a full bowl of granola and yoghurt sits in front of Fran.

‘Last night, the reconstruction threw up some more information, stuff that might help,’ Kelly says, with a smile.

‘Really?’ I look at Fran, who gives a thin smile. She looks a little better this morning, and I hope that she managed at least a couple of hours of sleep. ‘What kind of information?’

Dominic, on the other hand, looks terrible this morning, his face lined and haggard. I’m guessing he didn’t sleep, and there is the faint whiff of brandy on his breath. I’m not entirely sure that it’s from last night, either. ‘Someone else called into the television show and said they also saw Laurel getting into a car.’