‘Yes, that’s true,’ Mark said, treading carefully as he spoke. From what he’d seen of the body, he knew the odds were slim. That it was only a formality now. Yet, he couldn’t come out and say that for sure, so he had to dance around the subject, as if there was another answer for them. As if they could still hope for a different outcome.

Mark felt that a narrative was being created already, now they had a body. He was being pushed in one direction, one he couldn’t really argue against. The possible lines of enquiry he might approach the family with, the questions he could ask.

Suicide.

Self-harm, which caused the blood they found. When she couldn’t see that through, or lost her nerve, she found an easier way. It was possible she could see the student flats from where she was standing, he thought. On the riverside, a new addition to the waterfront, a mile or so from the old dockyards and a little further still to the Albert Dock and Liver Building.

Yards away from where her blood was left to pool and be washed away.

‘Do you think I’ll have to see her?’ Julie said, speaking for the first time since Mark had arrived. ‘Like, identify her or something?’

‘We’ll deal with that as it comes, Julie,’ Mark replied, trying to catch her eye and give her his patented caring look. Knowing the answer was yes, but knowing there was no good way to tell someone that within hours, they would see a dead body. Her eyes were fixed on a spot over his shoulder, towards the window. As if she was waiting to see Emily walk up the path to the front door.

He watched Julie’s hands tremble, the same rhythmic motions they’d been making since he’d arrived. The electricity running through her body, struggling to be contained. The grief and horror that wanted to be released.

‘We don’t know if it’s her yet, Mum,’ Stephanie said again, continuing to hold on to her mother’s hand, as if she could absorb whatever she was wanting to let out. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Until we know for certain, Emily might come back at any moment.’

Mark had been around people who had lost loved ones in this type of situation before. Quite a few times, in fact. Yet each time seemed like the first.

No. That wasn’t quite true, he thought.

Each time just became a little harder to get past. To put away and draw a close on. It sometimes felt like he left a little of himself behind with each family he dealt with. As if they were each taking a portion of his soul and keeping hold of it.