She can’t feel anything. She lies Sally on the ground and starts CPR. One, two, three, four. In, out. Pray. One, two, three, four. In, out. Pray.

Oli stands up, the horror slowly fading. The candlelight disappears, but her hand still grips her throat. A sob escapes her mouth, and she wipes at her eyes impatiently. What has got into her? There’s no point reliving that awful moment.

Disoriented, she heads to Isabelle’s study, where the glaring sunlight showcases flecks of dust that float across the room. Oli wants to try on the dresses, but that would be crazy. They won’t fit her, anyway.

A message pings on her phone, the blast of sound almost causing her to drop it.

I hope work has been okay. Tell the girls good luck from me. It’s looking pretty doubtful I’ll get to the pool but I’ll try. Have fun x

Oli expels a lungful of breath. Relax, she orders herself. Dean is still at work, and he thinks she’s at the office. She places her phone on the sofa and opens the cupboard. Pauses. Zips open the third clothing bag and fingers the delicate material.

She lets out a laugh. She’s being ridiculous.

After zipping the bag closed with a flourish, she scans the neat stacks of boxes. Her eyes climb higher to more boxes and several fabric bags. More of Dean and Isabelle’s shared history. How often does Dean think about his old life? He must compare her with Isabelle all the time; it would be impossible not to.

Oli stands on the arm of the sofa, carefully reaches up, and manoeuvres down the closest box on the upper shelf and two of the bags. The box is full of cards and school reports. Oli reads a few of the cards, most from Isabelle’s twenty-first birthday. The first bag contains postcards, folded pieces of paper and hundreds of loose photos. She reads a postcard Dean sent to Isabelle from Thailand in 2003, his loopy font exactly as it is today. There are photos of them at a wedding, and of them skiing somewhere, Isabelle’s pretty face split in half by a smile.

The last bag contains a few more photos and several notebooks. The photos are of Isabelle as a little girl taken at some kind of gymnastics competition. She looks eerily like the twins. Oli puts them aside and flicks through the first one, A5 with a flecked gold cover. It’s full of to-do and shopping lists.

The other three notebooks have navy covers. One is from 2005, the others from 2006 and 2011. The Victoria Police insignia is embossed in the lower right corners.

Oli gasps. When Isabelle died, these diaries should have been tagged and processed, sent off to the police archives. They shouldn’t be here.