For a moment, I’m gripped by an impulse to run after her and tell her the whole desperate story. But there’s nothing to be gained by that. Dylan’s death can’t be related to Hollie’s. It was too long ago. Far more likely Hollie’s murder is related to the porn ring her father got tied up with.

As I stand there, the sun’s rays catching on Dylan’s grave, a lump forms in my throat. The initial agony of loss has dulled into a raw ache that’s become a part of who I am now. I will never get over losing him. His death was the consequence of events that should never have happened, which I should have been able to stop. But for him, just like for Hollie, it’s too late.

*

When Niamh comes in, I give her the bracelet I bought her in Marrakech, suddenly realising it’s of inordinate importance to me that she likes it as I watch her take it out of the small brown paper bag, then turn it in her hands. ‘Do you like it?’

She nods. ‘It’s really pretty.’

After she goes upstairs, I turn on my laptop, then start to look at a local property rental website, grateful that I have a job and a reasonable income. I look at the details of a couple of small houses that are closer to Chichester than Abingworth, but still convenient for Niamh’s school. One in particular catches my eye, not just because it’s pretty, but because I could afford it easily on my airline salary. It’s a terraced townhouse on a quiet road on the outskirts of Chichester. The photos show a flight of steps leading from the street up to a freshly painted front door, an interior that’s light and spacious, and a garden at the back.

After filling out an online form to request a viewing, there’s something else I have to do.

I glance towards the stairs, hearing the faint sound of Niamh’s television coming from her room, then pick up my phone and find DS May’s number. But when I call, it goes to voicemail.

‘It’s Elise Buckley. There’s something I need to talk to you about.’

Chapter Thirty-One

Elise

I’m on edge waiting for DS May to call me back. I try her again, knowing I need to tell her about the image I’ve seen on Andrew’s phone; my uneasiness growing when she still doesn’t answer and Andrew’s car pulls up in the drive. Not wanting to speak to her while he’s around, I switch my phone off.

‘Next time you talk to the police about Dylan, perhaps you could let me know.’ The acid words trip off my tongue as Andrew walks into the kitchen.

‘Why?’ he demands. ‘Are you worried, Elise? Frightened you’ll say the wrong thing?’