It’s only then she sees her. Chloe is standing a few feet back from Patrick, in front of their car. Maureen reaches to fix her hair.

Patrick waves a little towards her with his right hand. ‘She’s come about that bloody advert you’ve got up in the newsagent’s.’

‘Oh Pat, will you stop moaning about that, especially when we’ve got a girl standing on our driveway who . . .’ Her voice trails off. ‘Oh, never mind.’ She dumps the washing basket in Patrick’s arms then and straightens her clothes. ‘Here, Pat, make yourself useful while I chat to . . .’

‘Chloe,’ she says, but the wind steals her voice. ‘Chloe,’ she tries again, louder. Blood is pumping at her temples. It’s really them.

‘Right, OK. Well, ignore him, Chloe. He thinks we’re fine here rattling around in this big house, but I told him there’s nothing wrong with lining our pockets with a bit of extra cash. Why don’t you come in and I’ll show you the room?’

Chloe nods, hardly able to believe that it’s been this easy, that after everything she’s read, everything she knows, she’s been invited into the Kyles’ home. Just like that.

‘Mind the step, love, it’s a bit high that one, has taken me some getting used to.’

Inside the kitchen is a black and white chequered lino. Chloe wants to tiptoe, to look and feel without disturbing this place with a single footstep. It feels like a film set, everything on show a prop: the set of knives on the wall, the dead cactus in the window, even the cobwebs that keep it company.

A terrific bang from outside makes her jump – a clap of thunder. The skies open immediately.

‘There, I knew it was going to come down any minute . . . hurry, Pat!’ she shouts out the doorway as she fills the kettle at the sink.

He shouts back something indecipherable.

‘You’ll have a cup of tea, won’t you?’ Maureen says. ‘Well, you can’t go out in this downpour now. Sit down, sit down.’

Chloe’s head is spinning. How had it been this easy? She pulls out a white wooden chair from under a small pine table. It scrapes on the floor. She sits down on it and looks around the room. The draining board is stacked with plates from lunch, two mugs, a large saucepan with a potato masher still standing up straight in it. On the fridge a magnetic diary is filled with nothing more than doctor’s appointments. In the kitchen window above the sink are four wooden letters which spell out hope. She’s reminded again of her purpose, not to allow anything to cloud why she is here. They don’t know it, of course – not yet – but she’s here to help them, to investigate Angie’s disappearance, maybe even to solve Angie’s disappearance. Maureen sees Chloe looking around.