What could I say? That I was terrified that whoever had been sending me messages had been watching us? They knew I was in a relationship with Will and that Chloe was his daughter.

The Facebook messages hadn’t come from Daisy’s original account which featured the four of us in the cover photo – me, Daisy, Al and Leanne in some club or bar in London, with our arms around each other and drinks in our hands.

But the messages hadn’t been sent from that account and, other than a dwindling number of “RIP Daisy” and “We still miss you, Daisy” comments, it hadn’t been updated since before we left the UK. No, whoever sent the messages from Daisy had set up a new account for her, same profile photo but no friends information, no cover photo, nothing. The only information on it was her name and her location – Annapurna, Nepal.

I didn’t re-read the messages as Will’s car pulled away from Green Fields. I waited until I’d checked that every door and window was locked, then I closed all the curtains, poured myself a glass of wine, and only then did I read them again.

Help me, Emma!

It’s so cold.

You never came back for me.

I don’t want to die alone.

They must have been sent within seconds of each other, one after the other.

I read them over and over again then sat down at my laptop and Googled her – Daisy Hamilton. I clicked through page after page of newspaper articles, all basically saying the same thing the Daily Mail had said: that four friends had gone on holiday, and only two had returned. There was no news report saying Daisy had been found alive and well, and nothing indicating her body had been found, either. There was no way she could have survived what happened. Or was there?

As I sat in the dark with the best part of a bottle of wine inside me, I played what if. What if she’s alive? What if she’s spent the last five years looking for me? What if it’s Al? Some kind of sick joke? She’s the only one who knows about my Jane Hughes Facebook profile. Maybe she hasn’t forgiven me for my reaction to the article she wrote, but my anger was justified. She sensationalised everything that had happened at Ekanta Yatra. The article made it sound like Daisy, Leanne and I had willingly taken part in orgies and bought into Isaac’s spiritual bullshit, and that Al had had to rescue me from it all. She said the journalist had twisted what she’d said, but there was so much detail in the article, Al had to have told her.