Lauren knows that they will not be going into Diane’s house, because Diane’s mother is ill and has been ill as long as Lauren can remember. For most of her life, Diane has looked after her mother. In recent years she has worked shifts at the Black Horse, and for a while did cleaning at the Castle Hotel in a black dress and white apron that she hated. For this reason, Lauren has hardly ever been to Diane’s house. The times she has, it felt sad. An over-stuffed-cushion, lots-of-teddy-bears kind of sad, rather than the sparser sadness that could leak from the walls at her own home.

‘It’s nice we got to know each other better,’ says Diane forlornly, dragging on her joint and tapping the ash out of the window. Lauren watches it fly away in the biting wind. ‘Well. That was the only good thing to happen. I’m having these fucked-up nightmares.’

She looks over at Lauren, who wants to go home. ‘Can you read the cards again, and maybe we can find out if Ann-Marie’s coming back?’ Diane’s voice is soaked in desperation. ‘There might be some cards in the car somewhere.’ The back seat is littered with clothes, old food wrappers and a make-up bag.

‘No.’ Lauren draws herself up. ‘My mum’s not coming back.’ Her voice is even. ‘I never even knew her.’ These words have been going through her mind on a loop until she is compelled to say them out loud. She sighs and looks down at Diane’s nails, black-purple like hard berries.

Without a word Diane rolls up the window and carries on smoking against the windscreen. ‘It’s on the radio,’ she says with a drawl, turning it down. ‘Whenever I switch on the radio, they’re talking about her, wherever she is. It’s the least I could do, really. They’ve got to find her soon. I’ve told the police everything.’ She starts rolling another joint.

Lauren knows there is something else that Diane is not telling her. She can smell the strange smoke strongly in her nostrils. She smiles without wanting to.