‘Yes,’ she says, her face blank. She dabs at her eyes with a tissue, and sighs. It’s as though she’s run out of steam, no energy left to even be cross with me anymore. ‘I’m not too sure what she really wanted though. Is she the one who has been texting me?’

‘I think so,’ I say, ‘she used to go to drama school with you apparently. Years ago, she said.’

Fran gives a tiny shrug of her shoulders, a barely there movement. ‘I don’t remember her. But yes, nice of her I suppose.’

That gives me an idea. I run upstairs and grab my laptop, setting it up on the kitchen table in front of Fran.

‘Ruth was only being supportive,’ I say, quickly typing in my password and opening up Facebook. ‘The whole town is being supportive and doing everything they can to help. You don’t have to deal with everything alone.’ I search for the ‘FIND LAUREL’ page and twist the screen round so Fran can see.

‘Look,’ I say, ‘everyone is hoping Laurel will be home soon.’ I scroll down slowly, until Fran pushes my hand away and starts scrolling herself.

‘Oh,’ she breathes, ‘look at all these lovely, lovely comments. This one look – I hope you get your beautiful angel back home safely soon – isn’t that so kind?’ She looks up at me, tears making her eyes shine brightly, George Snow seemingly forgotten for a moment. ‘And this one . . . and, oh.’ She stops, her hand going to her mouth.

‘What?’ I say, peering over her shoulder. ‘What is it?’ Running my eyes down the screen I see what has made Fran so upset. A message, from someone calling themselves Lois Burns, whoever that may be – there is no profile picture.

‘Did anybody look into the parents yet? The girl’s mother says she took her eyes off her for a second and she was gone. Maybe if she’d looked after her properly this wouldn’t have happened. She doesn’t deserve to have children.’

Clearly, not everybody in our small community feels the same way.

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 12

Dominic walks back through the door an hour later to a silent, dry-eyed Fran, and an atmosphere that you could cut with a knife. Kelly and Fran sit at the breakfast bar, while I lean against the counter, itching to get away, to head upstairs to my room at the very least. The room is suffocating me, Fran’s distress coating everything in something heavy and sticky, and I am desperate to get out of the house completely. Dominic throws his jacket over a chair and stops to survey the room, clearly feeling the tension.

‘What’s happened?’ he asks, looking from Fran to Kelly and back again. ‘Fran? What’s going on?’