In spite of her unease and the caffeine, she must have drifted off, because when she looks around, she’s on her own, her shoulders stiff. There are voices coming from the kitchen. She runs in. Nick is talking to a young police officer in the sitting room.

‘Agente Marco Martelli,’ he says, shaking her hand. ‘I am sorry about your sister. I hope it is only she is having too much fun.’

The man looks tired; he’s pale and there are dark shadows under his eyes. They sit at the kitchen table and the officer listens to Nick describing what happened during the day. Martelli checks the details against what he’s already written in his notebook, rubbing his moustache. She notices he has a scar through one eyebrow.

‘Is there anything else you can explain me? Anything that is suspicious.’

‘Yes,’ says Amy, joining the men. ‘Our iPad was stolen.’

Nick shakes his head. ‘It was here. I found it.’

‘Yes, but we’d searched everywhere for it. I’m sure someone took it.’

‘And then he puts it back?’ Martelli asks. He snaps his notepad shut. ‘Your sister is probably having the party. She forget to take her phone. She does not have your number in here,’ he taps his head, ‘so she cannot call to you. But if she does not come here in the morning, you say me, and I telephone to the Carabinieri. It will take them one, two hours to reach here from the mainland, from Grosseto. After she has been missing for the whole day, they will come.’ He shrugs. ‘Probably.’

Nick is about to protest, but his shoulders sag and he shakes Martelli’s hand. They watch the officer drive away, the headlights flickering as the car bumps over the rough track.

‘We should try and get some rest,’ says Amy.

Nick nods. ‘She’ll be toasting Ruby-May somewhere,’ he says. ‘Grieving in her own way.’ He pats her shoulder.

Amy stands for a moment, looking into Bethany’s room, her unmade bed, the curtains still open, stirring faintly in the breeze. Bethany’s clothes are strewn around the room, her sports bra hooked over a chair, Lycra leggings trailing like shed snakeskin. Make-up and bottles of suncream and body oil litter her chest of drawers. Next to her bed is a glass of water, a novel and a phial of blue sleeping tablets. It smells of her perfume and suntan oil, as if she’s only stepped out for a moment.