Marnie was ten years old and her dad was her dad. He was miserable and ill-tempered but she had never seen him raise a hand in anger, although he used his voice to good effect. He was quite capable of defending himself, so Marnie never felt that she needed to intervene on his behalf. Who would take any notice of her anyway? She kept her head down and kept quiet. People left her alone; they moved away to avoid having to talk to her. Angharad came over to the caretaker’s cottage one day and as she tidied, she grumbled that the speculation about John Morahan was all nonsense and Marnie shouldn’t take any notice.

‘He’s a good man, your father,’ Angharad said. ‘He’s loyal and he looks after his own. He never had designs on that girl from Caravan 49, you hear me? Never! Don’t you listen to what those ignorant people say. It would have been disgusting. For goodness’ sake, she was young enough to be his daughter!’

27

So, Will realised, it wasn’t concern for his mother’s wellbeing that had brought Guy deVillars to the building site, but the desire to be present when Mr and Mrs Lang turned up to see where their only daughter had lain buried for all these years.

Wasn’t that odd behaviour in itself? There was no need for Guy to be there. He didn’t own the land any more. There was nothing he could do to mitigate the pain or grief for the Langs. Might it be because he wanted to maintain an element of control? To check what was being said and done, to steer suspicion away, if suspicion veered towards him?

Will kept back from the media pack but watched attentively. Behind the Langs, hanging back, was an overweight, middle-aged man: their adopted son, Jeremy.

The Langs stood side by side by the car while the police officer who had spoken to Guy earlier introduced his superior and some bigwig from the construction company. Cynthia Lang was holding a single white rose, her husband, Adrian, a bunch of flowers, a tasteful arrangement of spring blooms and greenery held together by a black ribbon tied in a floppy bow like the bows Alice used to wear in her hair. For all their clumsiness in loving her, the Langs had cared enough to pay this homage to their daughter. Will had a sudden, unexpected lump in his throat. Saoirse would appreciate this. He reached his hand into his pocket, felt the smooth sides of his phone, thought he’d call her as soon as this was over and then remembered that he’d promised himself he would not.