‘That’s Ines O’Brien, the one giving Mary dagger-looks.’

Ines O’Brien, I think, the Spanish woman who brought Mark home when his babysitter forgot him at the park. Married to Victor O’Brien, who was questioned by police. I stare at Ines as on screen, she stares at Mary. There is something there. Something familiar. Maybe.

Beside Ines is a fair-haired, bearded man with his hands in his pockets and an impatient look on his florid face.

‘The man with the beard is Victor, Ines’s husband. And that’s Cora,’ Fran says, pointing at the small, curly-haired girl with the bow in her hair. ‘Their daughter.’ She glances at me as though waiting for a reaction, then continues. ‘Cora was with Lily the day it happened, hiding with her. She’s never mentioned by name in the reports, but that’s who they’re talking about. The last person to see Lily alive.’

The last person to see Lily alive. Or was that me? I clear my throat.

‘Cora. I met her.’

‘Really?’ Fran looks at me over the top of her glasses.

‘Last night, there was a woman called Cora at the party, maybe you saw her? It must be the same person – it’s not a common name, and the Cora I met grew up here.’ I squint at the TV, doing calculations in my head. ‘She was in her early forties, which’d be about right.’

‘God, I haven’t seen Cora O’Brien in thirty years, I’m not sure I’d recognize her. Why was she at your party?’

I look at Fran. There’s something in her tone that I can’t quite place.

‘She’s living back here. She inherited her parents’ house and moved in last month. I got the blow-by-blow account at the party. You didn’t see her?’

Fran shakes her head. Again, I can’t help feeling I’m missing something.

‘A mum I know from the school is her neighbour, and Cora kind of tagged along with her. Has to be her.’ I look at the TV screen again, at the small, pale child. It must be.

I turn my attention to the other people in the video.

‘So, I assume the woman holding the cake is Mary?’

‘Yes, no mistaking Mary. She was always beautiful. They made a very good-looking couple, herself and Robbie. And people loved them. Loved being around them. Probably helped that they were generous and always had the best parties. Best babysitting gig around too.’

Mary’s turquoise dress seems to shimmer around her, the thin straps delicate against her neat, tanned shoulders. With her oversized sunglasses on the crown of her head, she looks every inch a California girl beside her less glamorous neighbours.

‘I wonder did it bug them,’ I say.

‘What?’

‘Mary. People don’t always like different.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Fran says. ‘Try being the tallest girl in the class your whole life. A carthorse among show ponies. Or the only one at the family wedding who hasn’t found a husband.’ She puts ‘found’ in air quotes.