Josie takes a slow sip of tea and over the top of the mug regards the two women in front of her. She shakes her head.

‘No, Maureen,’ she says, placing her cup back on the table. ‘I can’t say she does.’

Maureen looks up at her friend, and then at Chloe.

‘Josie, but of course she does. Look at her hair, her pale skin, and she’s even got this freckle on her neck – show her, Chloe. I saw it the very first night she moved in, not that I said anything but . . . Angie had one just like it. Josie, don’t you see it?’

Chloe reaches up to her neck, her fingertip finding the freckle Maureen had never mentioned before.

Josie takes another sip of her tea without looking. ‘I can’t say I do, Mo.’

Maureen reaches up to fix her hair, and laughs a little.

‘Oh Josie, you’re making me feel like I’m going mad. Patrick’s the same, he can’t see it either.’

‘Plenty of people have dark hair, Maur—’

‘I know, I know, Josie, it’s just . . .’

The two women look at Chloe and she dips her gaze down into her lap. Josie uses the silence as her opportunity.

‘Angie was a little girl when she disappeared, Maureen,’ she tells her friend. ‘How can you say that Chloe reminds you of Angie when she’s a grown woman?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘How old are you, Chloe? Thirty? Thirty-one?’

‘Twenty-nine,’ Chloe replies.

‘The same age as Angie would have—’ Maureen tries, but Josie talks over her.

‘There you go, Mo, she said it herself – twenty-nine – how can she remind you of a little girl? She’s a grown woman.’

‘But if Angie hadn’t—’

‘Yes, but she did, Maureen.’ Josie’s voice is louder, as sharp as glass.

Silence. Maureen looks scolded.

‘Now let’s stop this talk and enjoy our tea,’ Josie says. ‘I’m sure Chloe has got things she needs to be getting on with rather than hanging around this kitchen with the likes of us.’