My right foot judders up and down on the lower bar of the stool I’m sitting on. Shake-shake-shake. Shake-shake-shake. I focus on it, willing it to stop and it does just for a split second before starting up again.

‘Could I ask you a favour, Kira?’

‘Of course.’ She shuffles from foot to foot. She reminds me of a horse, edgy, quick to startle, unpredictable. She needs careful handling, a deft, confident hand, and I’m not the right person to do it. I’ve never ridden a horse in my life. Never raised a daughter either. Not that Kira’s mother did any better. It angers me how much damage that woman did to her own child.

‘Is there a friend you could go out with for a few hours? I can give you some money for the pub or the cinema or something.’

‘When?’

‘Now.’

She glances out of the kitchen window, her lips part ever so slightly and then there’s the distinctive clack-clack-clack of her tongue stud against the back of her front teeth. ‘Where’s Mark?’

Why is she asking where he is? Does she feel uncomfortable being alone in the house with me? Or is she hoping he’s not home?

‘Mark’s still at work,’ I say. ‘But he’ll be back soon.’

‘Right. Okay, then.’ She crouches down, grabs the strap of her photography bag and hauls it back onto her shoulder. ‘I’ll just dump this lot upstairs and get changed and then I’ll—’

‘Kira.’ I stand up. ‘There’s something I need to ask you.’

‘Oh God.’ She lowers her head, cringing into herself.

‘It’s not about what I saw this morning,’ I say quickly. ‘In fact, I should apologize to you. I know you and Jake don’t get much privacy in this house and—’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ She tries to move past me.

I step to my right, forcing her to stop. ‘Hang on a second.’

‘What is it?’ There’s a pained expression on her face now. It’s the same one I’d see on Billy’s face whenever I asked him if we could have a chat about school or whether he had a girlfriend.

‘Do you know anything about that?’ I point at the photo album on the kitchen table.

‘What is it?’

‘A photo album.’

She shakes her head. ‘Should I?’

‘Some of the photos have been defaced. Do you know anything about it?’

‘No.’ She stares at me with huge, round, uncomprehending eyes. ‘Why would I? I’m a photography student – I take photos. I don’t destroy them. That goes against—’