The car had become a lifeline to a world outside the self-made prison she’d shared for four long years with a man who was no longer her husband.

Raploch Community Campus sparkled in the midday sunshine, although looking north clouds were gathering over the Ochil Hills. Passing the community centre, Karen turned left and parked outside the church.

Having got here, her doubts now returned in earnest, despite all her attempts at positive thoughts. She would be unable to disguise her current state of mind from the other women. That was certain. Someone would spot that something was wrong, probably Marge.

The point of coming to the cafe was to be honest with herself and with the other women. Could she still do that?

Well, she was about to find out.

The feeling when Karen did step over the threshold was one of relief. Just getting here at all after the shock of the news bulletin was, she told herself, a success in itself.

‘Is that you, Karen?’ Marge’s booming voice came from their meeting room. ‘Tea’s made and Joyce has brought home baking.’

All six faces turned to greet her with a smile, springing tears in Karen’s eyes.

‘Hey,’ Marge said, quickly rising and coming over to her. ‘What’s happened, Karen?’

And so she told them. Not everything, of course, most of which she couldn’t say out loud – questioning, as she was, her own sanity.

‘And you think the wee girl they found is your pal?’ Joyce asked quietly, when Karen had finished explaining about the news item.

She nodded. ‘I’d been thinking about her a lot recently. And I read some of my diary entries about when she disappeared. It was as though . . .’ She halted there, not sure about saying she’d felt Mary reaching out to her in some fashion. ‘Anyway, I switched on the radio and suddenly there it was.’

‘I heard it too,’ Shona said. ‘It was horrible. All those years, and her family never knew what had happened to their wee girl.’

‘Have you talked to the police?’ Marge, always the sensible one, asked. ‘If it turns out to be your pal, they’ll want to talk to you about what you remember from back then.’

Which was exactly what Karen was afraid of.

‘I can’t go back to all that,’ she said. ‘Just reading a bit of the diary . . .’ She stumbled to a halt.

‘The police have trauma counsellors,’ Marge said, patting her arm. ‘And one of us would go with you, if you wanted us to.’

‘I’ll wait and see,’ Karen declared. ‘If it’s not Mary, then I don’t need to go to the police.’

She was prevaricating. She knew that, but the memories that were bubbling up both tortured and horrified her.

Marge was studying Karen, her face showing her concern.

‘You’re remembering stuff you wanted to forget?’

The circle of concerned faces confirmed that everyone in that room had something awful they wanted to forget. Which was why they’d all ended up here.