How could he not have been at the park with Angie? And if they weren’t there, where were they? And why would he tell her, of all people? It could only have been a test. Had she passed or failed? She hadn’t even had time to react. Had it been her talking about the park which had prompted him to correct her? Does he want her to know that, whatever Maureen says, he knows she is not his missing daughter? But how can he be so sure?

Chloe looks down the road as she waits for the bus to appear, but as she does so another thought swirls around her mind. She tries to dismiss it, she’s not ready for that. But as the bus pulls up alongside the pavement, as she buys her ticket, sits down, the thought takes its place beside her and follows her back towards town.

She gets off at the stop before the bus station and hurries through the underpass to the sound of her echoing footsteps. She takes the back streets, up and down kerbs, until finally she is there, standing outside a very familiar front door – one she hasn’t visited for almost two months, but she has to see something for herself. She knows until she checks the cuttings she mustn’t jump to any conclusions.

She takes a set of keys from her pocket, struggling to find the one that fits Nan’s door. She pushes it into the lock and feels the click, that little resistance, and by the time she opens the door, it is all coming back to her.

Nan’s house feels more like a museum these days. The air is stiff, the front door heavier than she had remembered. She looks down at the floor and understands why: envelopes and flyers, greetings cards and free newspapers have collected on the doormat.

She shuts the door behind her and starts collecting the junk mail from the floor. The curtain still hangs off the back of the door where she left it. She wanders through the house as if she has never been there before. She is scared to disturb it, afraid even for her feet to leave an impression on the carpet. Stopping in the hall and looking up into the mirror, in that split second she reminds herself that she has every right to be here. She quickly looks away from her reflection.

In the living room, everything is as she left it. Nan’s mahogany sideboard has gathered more dust, but the freeze-framed faces smile as they always have. She picks up one photograph that she recognizes, the black and white photo of Nan and Stella on the beach. It had once been her favourite, and yet now, the faces in it are more like those of strangers.