She’d carried on, though, after Jack died, drinking even more, putting off her decision on what would happen next. The days and nights met one another in an endless cycle until, one morning, she made up her mind to stop. It had happened after a particularly powerful dream featuring Jack. Not the frightened Jack who didn’t recognize her, but the real Jack. Her Jack.

‘What are we going to do about you?’ he’d said. ‘Well, first things first. You’re not a drinker, Karen. Never have been. Tomorrow you’re going back to being you.’

So she’d tried, because Jack told her to.

The memory of that dream and Jack’s words had taken her as far as the recovery cafe. The women she’d met there had done the rest.

With her mind made up to go to today’s gathering, Karen carried her mug to the sink to rinse it. As she did so, the news bulletin came on the radio. Karen paused in her reach to switch it off, knowing the announcer was saying something she had to hear.

And there it was.

A child’s body had been unearthed on moorland south of Glasgow. It was thought that it may have been buried there for up to fifty years.

Fifty years. A lifetime.

As her thoughts swung back in time, Karen knew. This was what yesterday had all been about. The rush of memories, both good and terrifyingly bad. The knowing that something was about to happen. The certainty, by the images alone, that it had something to do with Mary.

And here it was.

As the mug slipped from her hand, Karen watched the remaining tea fan out like blood and thought of Mary’s disappearance, and her own part in it.

10

McNab emerged after his workout, not convinced that a gym membership was doing anything for his love life or his career.

No time for early-morning sex any more and he was already knackered by the time he got to work.

It was his colleague DS Janice Clark’s remark that he’d put on a few pounds recently that had forced him down this road. McNab liked to blame his current contented love life for his lapse into the fat bastard model of himself. Plus he hadn’t run after, or run away from, some mad Glasgow headbanger for a while, which could mean he was out of condition . . . but only just.

So he’d taken up his SPRA membership and joined a gym as close to the police station as possible. When he’d told Ellie of his decision, he’d been shocked to note the smile of satisfaction on her face. Which meant she already thought he was a fat bastard, or she no longer looked forward to their morning couplings.

When McNab had pointed out he would have to rise pretty early to fit in the gym before work, thus depriving Ellie of his company, she’d merely laughed.

‘Going to the gym will give you more energy,’ had been her reply. Which sounded okay in principle, although the only result for McNab so far was a desire for more sleep and pains in muscles he’d forgotten he possessed.