John lit his cigarette and turned away, heading back towards the living room. As the door opened, Eric Clapton’s voice became louder. God, Marnie hated that record. Denise had hated it too, so much so that the child Marnie had learned to associate the music with her mother laying down her book and saying: ‘I’m going for a walk.’

Denise preferred to walk alone.

Marnie used to trot upstairs and look out of her bedroom window, watching her mother diminish in size the further she walked along the side of the estuary. John had always been a noisy man, a turner-on of radios and televisions, a banger and clatterer, a laugher, a singer, a snorer and shouter. Denise was the opposite, and Marnie… Marnie was the quietest of them all.

Marnie picked up the mugs and followed her father into the living room. John dropped heavily into his reclining chair. The arms were filthy, black and greasy, stuff that he’d brought to the chair and discarded piled on either side. The television was playing, some cricket match or other, the commentator’s voice drowned by the music. Marnie cleared a space on the occasional table for the mugs. She picked up a printout of an article taken from the internet that featured a photograph of Alice Lang with her parents, and a separate picture of a piece of jewellery.

‘Mr deVillars brought it,’ said John. ‘See that necklace? The police want to know where it came from. Alice’s parents had never seen it before.’

Marnie had forgotten the necklace and the little silver swallow. Her fingers went of their own accord to her throat. She remembered when she had worn that same necklace, Alice’s fingers at the back of her neck gently fastening the clasp, and then Alice turning her by the shoulders to look at her and saying: ‘Oh, that’s lovely, Marnie! We’ll have to get one for you, the same, but with an “M”.’

She put the sheet of paper back on the table.

John was staring at the television. Trip Two went over to him, reached up his hairy snout and pushed it into John’s hand, until the man relented and scratched the top of the dog’s head. Trip whined. ‘Tell you what, Marnie,’ said John. ‘Now you’re here, make yourself useful and take TT for a walk, would you? He hasn’t been out at all today.’

16

Will stopped at the archway at the park’s entrance. The word ‘WELCOME’ was spelled out in large plastic letters. Overshadowing the arch were two tall poles, each bearing a marketing sail-flag with the name: ‘Loxtons’ and a banner saying: ‘Coming soon! A bespoke development of three- and four-bedroom executive homes!’ The homes were illustrated on a great, flat board, brick-built, steep-roofed houses with artfully depicted happy families relaxing in the gardens.