Fran walked through to the first room on the left.

Della followed as Fran moved to the window.

Outside, she could see Aoife and Ellen talking to Gavin and the twins. The group were huddled together a little distance away, and she couldn’t see their faces but Gavin was talking earnestly about something. Beyond the huddle of kids, she could see the brown-gold flash of river – glittering in the summer sun, grazing the riverbank reeds as it slipped past.

‘Come on,’ her mother said, ‘we’ll check the other rooms.’

At the boarded-up doorway, they stopped. Fran reached to push one of the barrels. It didn’t budge.

‘She can’t be in there,’ Della said. ‘She wouldn’t have been able to move that barrel. Let’s go.’

‘We’ve already searched there,’ Della said to Susie Stedman, when they bumped into her outside a house down by the river.

‘I know, I just want to be doing something. This is awful.’

‘Dreadful.’

‘Poor Mary and Robbie, they look shattered. Did you see Robbie’s arm’s in a sling? Got a wallop off someone last night.’ Susie lowered her voice. ‘Eddie Hogan, I bet. I wonder if he came back after we’d all left the dinner party?’

Della glanced at Fran then back to Susie. ‘Who knows,’ she said, sidestepping the question.

‘You don’t think there’s truth in this thing with Eddie’s daughter and Robbie, do you?’ Susie asked.

Fran stiffened.

‘I doubt it. Anyway, best we focus on the search.’ Della glanced over to where Cora was sitting on a low stone wall, drawing something in the dirt with a stick. Beside her, Cynthia smoked a cigarette. It seemed to make up Della’s mind. ‘Susie, is that police van still at the entrance?’

Half an hour later, the sound of shouting rang out across the building site. Fran froze, then began moving towards the noise. Della followed, half walking, half running. Ahead, near the river, Fran could see a group gathering. Her brothers. Ellen and Aoife, hopping from foot to foot. Gavin, hanging back, disinterested, or trying to look disinterested. Tom Stedman, running his hand through his hair. Robbie Murphy, still like a statue. Cynthia, smoking another cigarette. Some men and women Fran didn’t know. And Susie Stedman, who turned as they approached.

‘A shoe,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Fran, your brother found a shoe.’

Fran sucked in a breath. At the centre of the group stood Mary. One hand at her mouth, holding in a scream. And in the other hand, a little red shoe.

45

July 1985

DUSK NOW. DOGS. FRESH panic. Solemn faces. White noise in her ears. Tight fear in her throat. Cold dread seeping into her bones. Mary couldn’t tell how much time had gone by; how long they’d been sitting, rocking on the ground. She shook herself.

‘We should be searching. My God, what are we doing?’ she whispered, stumbling to her feet.

‘It’s OK, it was a five-minute break, that’s all,’ Della said, holding her. ‘You’ve been out here for hours with nothing to eat and no break until now. You needed it.’