‘No, not in the slightest. I think there’s a connection to Joanna Carter. Emily had her own issues too, which, if what you’re saying about Joanna is true, means someone could have been out for revenge against her as well. I could do with more help, though.’

‘Not much chance at the moment, but hopefully this arrest checks out and I can help you out with that. Just keep on top of things for now.’

Still on his own then, Mark thought. ‘Good luck with the interview.’ He ended the call as Natasha entered the café, smiling at him as she spotted where he was sitting. She took the seat opposite, catching the waitress’s eye as she did so. ‘Thanks for coming over my way. I don’t get much of a lunch break.’

‘It’s no problem,’ Mark replied, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘Could do with the distraction to be honest.’

Natasha ordered and then turned back to Mark. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Yeah, just work stuff.’

‘Would it help to share the pain? I can be a good listener, you know. And you know, a problem shared…’

‘Honestly, it’s nothing you want to know.’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ Natasha said, shaking her head and holding her hands out in front of her. ‘Anything to take my mind off my own work issues.’

‘I shouldn’t…’

‘I won’t tell a soul.’ Natasha placed a hand over her heart, as if that was all that was needed.

It turned out to be enough.

Mark breathed in, then began talking. He was careful to keep his voice low, so the two other people in the café couldn’t hear him, and also didn’t name anyone involved. Apart from that, he found himself telling Natasha everything that had occurred in the past few days. The missing teenager. The dead woman. The murky hidden life online that Emily had. The family left behind waiting for answers. The non-connection between the missing and the dead.

It wasn’t until he mentioned the anti-bullying website that he got the sense that Natasha wanted to interrupt. As the waitress took that moment to deliver plates to the table, he stopped and waited for her to speak.

She stayed silent.

‘Have you heard of them?’ Mark said, looking down at the decidedly limp chicken salad on his plate and wondering if it was too late to change it to the bacon on toast that was sitting in front of Natasha. Doorstop bread, as well, he thought. He could smell the grease dripping onto the plate beneath it and almost drooled. ‘The Huddle?’

‘I have,’ Natasha replied, but didn’t elaborate. Instead, she stared towards the main road outside.

‘Well, don’t leave me hanging. What do you know about them?’