I slam the receiver down in fury. A bloody reporter. How the hell did they find me? I know it’s impossible to have zero online presence—there are news articles with my name in, for a start—but I don’t do social media. Never have. I’ve been on a couple of epilepsy chat forums in the past, but always under a pseudonym. I’ve been so careful never to give away any private details.

It rings again straightaway. I let it go to answerphone and listen, fists clenched at my side, heart racing.

“Miss Molyneux, I think we might have got cut off there. I’m doing a piece on the debate that’s going on about Network Rail’s program of level-crossing closures.”

Her voice fills the room, a torrent of words battering my ears.

“Not everyone agrees with the closures. They think it causes more problems in rural communities. Prevents access and forces people to use dangerous roads instead. I’m keen to get a range of different opinions. I’ve already spoken to a representative of the Dawson family and I was wondering whether—”

The message ends abruptly. The recording time has reached its limit and so have I. I rush to the downstairs toilet, lift the lid, and throw up.

28

I tell Ross about the phone call as soon as he comes home. We’ve made up after our argument yesterday, but things have been a little subdued between us, so I’m glad of the need to talk to him directly about something else. Giving him a problem to solve is just what I need to get him back onside. Besides, it’s Friday night. I don’t want this atmosphere hanging over us all weekend.

Ross looks furious on my behalf. “Don’t feel pressured into talking to this reporter if she rings back. Put the phone down on her.”

“I just can’t understand how she’s tracked me down. And why now, after all these years?”

“Because of this other girl who’s died, I suppose. It’s got them sniffing around for similar stories in the past. As for tracking you down, you know what reporters are like. They have their ways.”

“I can’t help wondering who…” I bite my lip and stare out of the window. Now that the thought has occurred to me, I realize we’re probably going to end up rowing yet again.

“What?”

“I can’t help wondering who this representative of the Dawson family is. The one she said she’d already spoken to.”

Ross shifts in his chair. He looks about as uncomfortable as I feel. We’ve landed straight back into the same dodgy territory that had us rowing before, but it’s too late now. I have to say what’s on my mind.