Now Adana’s eyes are uncharacteristically damp. ‘You are amazing, you know that? God, look at me, getting soppy after one drink. That’s it now, back to giving out about everyone for the rest of the night. Another G&T?’

I nod, and as Adana leans out of the booth to signal a waiter, I notice a familiar figure on the other side of the bar. A welcome distraction from the fire that never was and the guilt that never wanes.

‘Oh, my neighbour Fran is here. I should go over and say hi in a bit.’ Craning my neck, I try to see who she’s with. She’s in a corner spot, and I can see her in side-profile, elbow on table, hand under chin. To her left, facing us, is an ash-blonde woman in her early thirties. She’s telling a story, it seems, gesturing with her hands, laughing. There’s something familiar about her. Her eyes? Her smile? The way she moves? I shake my head. This is silly. I’m seeing familiar everywhere now.

‘Oh, by the way, did you see there’s a new Deep Dive blog post?’ Adana is saying, tapping on her phone screen. She slides the phone around for me to read.

Little Whispers

It’s been a long time since anyone asked any questions about Lily Murphy – is the story about to unfold again? Will fresh eyes see what nobody saw before?

Someone knows something. To be more accurate, a number of people know a number of things. And some of them are still there, in Rowanbrook, tending their gardens, greeting their neighbours, old and new. But now, there may be little whispers and new questions and fresh eyes.

Watch this space.

DD.

The air around me thickens as I read it a second time, gin swirling in my stomach. I look up at Adana. ‘What do you think they mean by fresh eyes? Reopening the case?’

She gives me an odd look. ‘I assume it’s about the comment you left on the blog? Saying you’re interested in finding out what happened?’

Of course. Shit. I do want to know. I want to know that Lily and my sister were not the same person. That I’m not the one who killed Lily. But if I’m wrong, I can’t have anyone else find out. The blog comment was a mistake. As I scroll on Adana’s phone, searching for my comment and for a delete button, I feel someone’s eyes on me. I glance up and see Fran looking over, but when I raise my hand to wave, she turns away. Perhaps she didn’t recognize me.

Our drinks arrive and I pay, still scrolling on Adana’s phone. There’s no delete button on the comment. Shit.

‘Are you OK?’ Adana asks.

‘Yeah, sorry, don’t mind me.’ I hand back her phone.

‘I was thinking,’ Adana says, looking down at her screen, ‘we could try searching on some true-crime forums? See if we can find any Lily Murphy theories there?’

‘Yeah, good idea.’