Steph pictured an invisible network of lines, connecting Zeb to Emma, Emma to her, her to Jess, Jess to Lee and back to Zeb. Where was Freya in this web?

“He’s only posted twice in the last year,” Jess said, “and it’s kind of weird . . .”

“Weird?” Steph’s tone made Heather look up from the iPad.

“The first one was about three months ago. Lee’s sent me a screenshot . . .” Jess cleared her throat as though to make a speech. “‘Random request alert: Does anybody know a Robin Lyle? Think he might live out toward the South Downs. Any info massively appreciated.’”

“Robin Lyle?” Steph looked at Heather, who took her cue and began to search for the name.

“His second post, about a month ago, was a link to Robin Lyle Construction. No explanation.”

“Robin Lyle Con—” But Heather had already found the website and was holding the iPad toward Steph, showing a man in his early to mid-thirties, with long brown hair, wearing a hard hat and high-vis jacket.

Steph stared at him, her throat tight. She’d never seen him before. How could she know whether the network expanding out from her daughter contained this man? How could she know how far it stretched in miles, people, time? Or whether the answer was actually so nearby that she was failing catastrophically to see it?

24.

KATE

Twenty-five years earlier

I can’t let this happen. Can’t let them go away together for a long weekend. Imagine what he could do to my mum in three whole days far from home.

He sprang the idea on her, just after I’d persuaded her to let Becca stay. For the past week, Becca and I have been pretending we’ve forgotten all about our suspicions. Becca’s been on her best behavior, trying not to upset Mum, but an atmosphere hums in the air. Mum is sometimes subdued; sometimes falsely, painfully cheery. Nick’s moods are up and down too. Some days he acts like our protector: He fixes things in the flat, deals with dodgy-looking people hanging round the tower block, insists Mum puts her feet up while he makes tea. Other days I’ll get home from school to find they’ve sent Becca out for chips, and Nick will be smoking on the balcony while Mum’s in her room or in the bath, door closed. And I’ll know they’ve been arguing.

And now this.

A surprise break, an early birthday present. As Mum sits at the kitchen table and tells me about it, she tries to seem excited but her eyes are empty.

Don’t go, I long to say. Please don’t go.

“The Cotswolds,” she says, smiling vaguely. “Lovely, hey?”

“I thought we might do something special for Becca’s last weekend,” I say.

“Well, you two can. You’ll have more fun without us.”