Oli’s thoughts are drifting. Everyone said the housemates were close, but something had shifted in the months leading up to that night.

Dean frees a suit jacket from a coathanger, slips it on. ‘We’ll probably leave straight after school finishes. I’m keen to get up to Phil’s before dark.’

‘Makes sense,’ Oli says, nodding. ‘I’ll miss you guys.’ Her voice sounds flat, distracted. ‘I wish that …’ She pauses, her thoughts oily. For some reason, she feels like she might say the wrong thing.

‘It’s probably good we’re getting out of your way. Seeing as you’re so busy.’ He stands back, looking around as if he’s forgotten something. ‘Towels, we need beach towels.’

‘In the laundry.’

He nods. Swings the bag onto his shoulder. ‘Alright, we’ll head off then. I’ve got a new business meeting this morning, and a few last-minute things to sort out with Nath and his comms team.’

‘Okay.’ Oli gets to her feet and stands in front of him. ‘I’ll come down and say goodbye to the girls.’

He pulls her close, his arms wrapped around her tightly as he kisses her forehead. ‘Just make sure you check in,’ he says lightly. ‘I like knowing what you’re up to.’

The first podcast episode drops just as the sky opens. The already dull day turns a blurry, hopeless grey, and Oli lifts her foot off the accelerator to avoid running up the back of an oversize truck that has slowed on the highway. The windscreen-wipers efficiently push the rain away, only to have the windows instantly turn to liquid again.

Oli reloads the home page at the lights. Introducing our true crime podcast series, The Housemate. Download episode one now. The graphics look good, the girls’ faces superimposed on a black strip, floating in the darkness.

The driver behind beeps their horn, and Oli switches her foot from brake to accelerator. Feels jittery even though she’s only had one coffee. She listens to the news then flicks the radio off. The traffic thickens, and the rain comes down harder. She hates driving in the rain. Her mother hated it too. Oli recalls watching Sally from the back seat, her small hands clutching the steering wheel as she scolded her daughters, shoulders hunched as she peered through the sweeping arms of the windscreen-wipers, looking like an old lady rather than a young woman in her late thirties. Oli’s father always drove when they went on family trips. He used to take his hands off the wheel and drive with his knees. Pretend to swerve into oncoming cars. Oli’s fingers would go to her wrist, count the beats, while her mother closed her eyes and whimpered.