Immediately her phone rang.

“Don’t answer it,” Bill said. “Turn it off.”

Lizzie thought about ignoring him and calling Dudley but then Kat exclaimed: “Dudley’s giving a press conference!”

Lizzie switched off the phone and stuffed it into her pocket. Kat glanced up at her then back at her screen. Once again, the tinny sound of voices filled the car:

“I’m distraught at the loss of my beautiful wife, Amelia.” Dudley’s voice sounded blurred by tears. “It was a terrible accident. I don’t even want to address the other horrible rumours which have already sprung up and are nothing but hurtful lies. I only ask that my family and I are given respect whilst we grieve.”

“Dear God,” Bill said, “he looks terrible. And he sounds like one of those guys whose wife disappears, and he makes a public plea for her to come home knowing all along that he’s murdered her and hidden the body. Jeez.”

Kat’s reply was overwhelmed by the cacophony from the phone as reporters scrambled to ask questions.

“Turn it off,” Lizzie said irritably. “Please, Kat. I’m begging you.” Tears stung her eyelids. She wanted to speak to Dudley, to comfort him and draw comfort from him just as she had when they were growing up together. She wanted to hug him and feel his arms about her. They made each other feel safe. Yet she had a horrible suspicion that everything had changed and they could never be so close, or so happy, ever again. It had all seemed so simple; the two of them against the world. Yet Amelia had always been there even when Lizzie had almost forgotten her. Her shadow had always been cast across them, the figure glimpsed out of the corner of her eye, the spectre.

Kat finally snapped off the sound on her phone just as Bill’s mobile rang again. He listened in sharp silence.

“There’s been a change of plan,” he said, as he ended the call. “We will be going back to London after all. The police want to interview you tomorrow, Lizzie.”

“Fine,” Lizzie said sulkily. “Whatever. I don’t know anything anyway.”

“The lawyers will brief you first thing,” Bill said.

“Fine,” Lizzie said again with a half shrug.

“This is serious,” Bill said with a warning note in his voice. “They haven’t dismissed the possibility of murder.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Bill, this is ridiculous.”

“Just do what the lawyers tell you,” Bill said. He settled his shoulders back against the seat and fumbled for a cigar.

“Must you smoke?” Lizzie said. “It’s bad for your health.”

Bill swore but he put the cigar away. The car took the next motorway exit and headed back the way they had come. Soon there was nothing around Lizzie but the rustle and hum of the car as it sped through the dark, nothing but the endless photos on her phone screen showing her laughing with Dudley on the set of Stars of the Dance, juxtaposed with ones of Amelia looking frail and ill, nothing but the tumbling words of hate mail already flooding into her social media accounts. The images spun a pattern in Lizzie’s head over and over, around and around until she finally slept.