‘You mean she trusted you and you abused her. And now you’re laying the blame on her. She never kissed you, Nick. She was a kid. It was you who kissed her. Admit it.’

‘I … No. I didn’t … I didn’t.’ When he went red, his spots literally glowed.

‘You disgust me, Nick Ritchie.’ His face was ashen, but she pressed on, unable to stop the surge of bile. She had to make him think he was the last person to see Izzy alive. ‘You went too far, didn’t you? You—’

‘Hey, you two.’ It was Lorna, holding a glass of wine, her eyes red-rimmed. ‘Don’t hide, sweetie.’ She put her hand on Taisie’s knee. ‘I know it’s difficult, but your mum needs you. You can hand round nibbles if you don’t feel up to talking to anyone.’

Taisie clambered down. She fetched a plate laden with cocktail sausages from the kitchen and wove her way between their guests, listening to snatches of conversation, but mostly people went silent when she approached. After a while Nick wandered over to his mum, but Cora was with some other women, mothers from the school, so he just hovered beside her looking like the spot-encrusted loser he was.

Her throat tightened, and her eyes pricked. She dashed inside and locked herself in the bathroom. There was only one person she wanted to talk to, and that was Tim. She wanted him to hold her, to stroke her, to caress the pain away.

PART 2

GRACE

Wednesday, 25 April 2018

NICK’S DISAPPEARANCE HAS FINALLY CAUGHT THE attention of the press. Tim went out for the paper this morning and wordlessly handed it to me. It isn’t a big item; a few column inches to say that thirty-four-year-old Nick Ritchie has been missing since the fourteenth of April. That’s followed by a human-interest piece on how many people go missing each year. A set of startling statistics. So far there’s been nothing about me, but I reckon it’s only a matter of time before some bright spark comes asking questions and discovers that I’m not the conventional mother I appear to be.

I put the paper down and call Marsh to ask whether Anna has been back to see him.

‘And?’ I ask when he confirms this.

He sighs. ‘And I don’t know. She thinks you’re fixated on what happened eighteen years ago.’

‘If I’m fixated, it’s because it was a massive upheaval in Nick’s life. What if he went back to the place where she died? What if he has some sort of guilt complex about what happened? The police should search the river. Maybe he’s in the house or camping out. They were all there; all these people that are, or were, part of Nick’s life: Angus Moody, Anna Foreman, his parents. And now Alex Wells.’