Tom stared at him. ‘Trouble? What are you talking about? Look, I’ve had a long day. I’ve just been questioned by fucking plod for three hours and I need a drink.’ Pushing past them both he strode into the kitchen. Following him, they watched as he took a bottle down from the wine rack. He poured himself a drink and downed it, then immediately poured another, watching Clara steadily above the rim of his glass.

Clara and Mac exchanged a glance. ‘Tom, what are you doing here?’ Mac asked again.

He considered him for a moment. ‘Well, not that it’s any of your business, Mac, but I’ve come to talk to my parents.’

There was a belligerence about him, a wildness she’d not seen before. She thought about how Mac had said he’d gone off the rails as a teenager, and she saw in him for the first time now a slightly unhinged, unpredictable side to him. ‘They’re asleep,’ she told him.

He finished his second glass and continued to stare at her. ‘Are they? Are they really, Clara? Well, maybe it’s time they woke the fuck up.’ He slammed his glass down on the table and went into the hall. Raising his voice he shouted up the staircase, ‘Mum? Dad? Wakey-wakey!’

Rushing over to him, Clara put a hand on his arm and cried, ‘Tom! What are you doing?’

‘Something I should have done a very long time ago,’ he replied. Raising his voice again, he called, ‘Get down here now! It’s time to wake up.’ He looked at Clara and muttered, ‘It’s time we all fucking woke up.’

Without another word he strode into the living room and flung himself on to the sofa where he sat motionless, morosely staring ahead.

Clara watched him in horror. Should she call the police? Glancing at Mac, she began to edge towards the hall, to where she’d left her bag hanging over the banister. If she could only get to her mobile without him seeing, she could go somewhere out of earshot and call 999. Without thinking, she let the photograph in her hand drop.

But before she could escape Tom leant forward and picked it up. ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

She stopped in her tracks. ‘Nothing. Just a photo of Luke’s I found,’ she said nervously. ‘I don’t know who it is. I found it in—’

Tom frowned in confusion then looked at her strangely. ‘You don’t know who this is? What are you talking about? This is Emily, of course. This is my sister Emily.’

There was absolute silence. And then Mac and Clara said at exactly the same time, ‘What?’

‘My sister.’ He stared down at it. ‘I didn’t know Luke had this picture of her, I thought my darling parents destroyed every last trace of her. Guilt can make you do all kinds of crazy shit, after all.’