‘Yes. Yes. Of course.’ She shrugs the cardigan from her shoulders, and it falls to the floor in a heap, before she grabs her coat from the hook on the wall. She slips it on, flicks her hair from the collar. Pulls on a woolly hat.

‘And … we’ll need someone to give us a formal identification,’ DS Barnum says, following her through the door. ‘Not right now, of course. Tomorrow. If you’re up to it.’

‘OK.’ She sniffs. ‘I’d better get to Butterfly Cottage—’

‘Your father’s house?’ DC Marsh says, joining them outside.

Alice nods, in a daze, fumbles with the key as she attempts to lock the door. ‘I need to make sure Henry’s OK. He’ll wonder where Dad is. He’s always at home, you see. Dad, I mean. He rarely goes … went out … Dad, not Henry. Though Henry only goes … went out with Dad. Sorry.’ The words feel jumbled, messy, catching in her throat, anxiety rising in her chest.

‘Will you be OK, Alice?’

‘I’m fine. Honestly.’ But she’s far from it, and knows if she doesn’t move away soon she’ll break. Fall apart. Sob until there are no more tears left to cry.

‘We’re sorry for your loss,’ DS Barnum says. It sounds heartfelt. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be for you. Please accept our condolences.’

Alice doesn’t respond – she can’t, her throat has closed. She heads away, into the freezing air. It snowed earlier, and although it disappeared as quickly as it came, the wind is icy, stinging her cheeks. Tears rise inside her, begging to be released. So this is grief.

*

Alice opens the front door to her father’s rambling old property on the outskirts of Whitby. At the sight of her, Henry wags his silky brown tail, slowly pads over, and looks up with sad, dark eyes. It’s as though he knows already that his master won’t be back.

‘Oh, my lovely boy.’ Alice drops to her knees onto the parquet flooring, and hugs the Labrador’s thick neck. ‘Why weren’t you out with Dad, Henry?’ Tears stream down her face. A sob catches in her throat. ‘Where was he going without you?’

*

‘Dad?’ Alice whispers into the darkness, seeing the outline of her father sitting on the edge of her bed, his head in his hands.

‘Promise me you’ll never go back,’ he says, lifting his head, turning to look her way. And then he’s gone.

‘No! Stay! Please.’

Alice’s eyes shoot open, her heart thudding as she scans the dimly lit bedroom, the fluorescent green numbers on the clock telling her it’s 5 a.m. She hauls herself up against the headboard, wipes away tears from her cheeks.