‘I’m on top of the world. Mum’s dead, and our sister is still missing – life’s just peachy. But it’s OK because I’ll take off to London soon, and leave my disabled brother and Dad to take care of everything.’

As soon as I’d spat out the words, the room fell silent.

‘I’m so sorry, Amelia,’ Maddie repeated. ‘I realise my vlog post wasn’t one of my best.’

My cheeks burned with anger and alcohol. ‘You can say that again.’

‘I’m not sure what I was thinking.’ Her eyes glistened. ‘Do you want me to take it down?’

‘What’s the point? The world’s already seen what an uncaring sister and daughter I am,’ I said, lowering my voice a little.

Two women from Dad’s am-dram society watched as I scuttled away, tears rolling down my cheeks. ‘What?’ I snapped at them, and they both looked down.

I dashed towards Dad alone in the kitchen. He took me into his arms and I sobbed. But I wasn’t crying about Maddie’s vlog post, not really. It was the thought that Mum died without knowing where Lark vanished to. That they never said goodbye.

And now Maddie is dead, and I wish I hadn’t confronted her that day – wish I hadn’t rejected her apologies when we first arrived at Drummondale House.

I rise, and head towards the front door to close it. The temperature in the cottage has dropped several degrees while it has stood open.

‘Where are you going, love?’ Dad’s voice is full of anxiety.

‘Just closing the door, that’s all.’

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Listen, I’m going to take a couple of painkillers and lie down for a while. I’m drained of energy, I need to recharge.’

‘Use my room,’ Thomas offers, and Dad limps through the door, closing it behind him.

I stand in the doorway, and stare out into the cold silence. ‘Whoever did this to Maddie and Ruth is out there somewhere,’ I whisper to myself, stepping onto the snow-covered porch. The clouds are heavy and dark – but the snow is easing. My eyes flit from the ruins, to Ruth’s cottage, and then to the forest.

I’m about to step back inside, when a piercing scream echoes in the trees, and my heart races. There’s nothing to see, but when another scream rings out, I’m sure it’s female. Rosamund? Elise?

‘Did you hear that?’ I cry, racing inside, and grabbing my coat, a surge of strength I can’t quite explain rising inside me.

‘Hear what?’ Thomas says.

‘The scream – outside – someone’s in danger.’

‘Yeah, and that’s one good reason to stay inside, sis. Close the door and lock it. Don’t leave. Please.’