The window was open a little and the nets billowed inwards on the breeze. The wallpaper was torn in places and hadn’t been changed in years. Sharon only noticed it now and wished she’d redecorated the room for her daughter. The police had been respectful and everything was in order. She’d told them to take what they needed. What did she want with a load of hair gel, ghastly make-up and miniskirts anyhow? But now she found herself wanting to touch everything. She sat on Keira’s bed and picked up a mirror. She had no idea where it had come from and realised with a shock that she knew little of her girl’s life behind this door. Keira had always been fiercely private. Sharon only really came in here to pick up clothes or tell her that her tea was ready. She tried to recall a routine, a semblance of what they shared together, but she found little in her memory to hang to and say that’s how it was with her daughter.

She lay down and buried her face in Keira’s pillow. Her scent was still fresh. She closed her eyes and remembered the day she’d given birth to her. Of course, the father was nowhere to be seen; he’d fucked off months before. It had hurt. The birth, not the desertion. She’d huffed and puffed and suffered in agony for twenty hours before they gave her an epidural, which didn’t work, so she screamed some more. She’d felt as though her fanny was exploding. The downward pressure of what felt like a red-hot rock would be burned into her memory forever. Keira had been her only child.

She lay curled up in the foetal position for many minutes with memories of her baby. She knew that the papers would report Keira’s death very differently compared to that of the woman from the big house on Ullswater. She knew that value was all about money. Keira hadn’t had a job, though she’d done the odd shift here and there. She hadn’t done well at school and was always in trouble. Rich folks didn’t realise that if you were born into shit, it was almost impossible to climb out of it.

Her throat was hoarse from all the shouting. It was her way of coping. But now, alone and having to face her worst nightmare, she couldn’t manage to battle through the fog; it just kept drenching her with its murky mist.