Andrew raises his eyebrows. ‘I suppose you ought to tell her, then. Or I will. But not right now.’

‘I’ll talk to her.’ I don’t trust Andrew to break it to her gently. Heavy-hearted, I go up to her room again, knocking softly on the door before pushing it open. As I tell her what Andrew told me, it feels as though I’m peeling away a layer of her childhood.

I sit with her, my arm around her shoulders as more tears pour down her cheeks. I’m guessing the police will be back at some point, that there will be more questions about Hollie that only Niamh can answer. ‘Niamh?’ I stroke her hair off her face. ‘Do you have any idea why Hollie might have gone there?’

Niamh shakes her head. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she says tearfully. ‘But it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s gone. Nothing can bring her back.’ She collapses into more heart-rending sobbing.

*

Shock ricochets through the village as the news spreads the next day. Everyone here has children in their lives – grandchildren, nieces, nephews – and teenagers aren’t supposed to be found dead. Meanwhile, the press start arriving, wandering around the lanes in search of the story behind Hollie’s death.

‘If anyone approaches you, just tell them you don’t know anything. Or walk away,’ I tell Niamh. ‘And if you’re here alone, don’t answer the door to anyone you don’t know.’

Niamh’s face is pale as she nods. ‘OK.’

Fortunately, I’m there later on, when a couple of strangers I guess are probably reporters walk up the drive and knock at the door. As Niamh appears at the top of the stairs, they knock again, then one of their faces peers in through the kitchen window. Seeing Niamh’s look of fear as she shrinks back is the last straw.

Going to the door, I open it to find a middle-aged man holding his phone, obviously ready to record me, a younger woman standing behind him. ‘You’re both trespassing. I’d like you to leave.’

He ignores me. ‘We’d just like a quick chat about the missing girl. They’ve found her body, haven’t they? Can you tell us a little about …’

Folding my arms, I glare at him, incensed by their invasion of our privacy. ‘If you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the police. Get out.’

‘All right …’ Holding up his hands, he nods to his colleague and the pair of them slope away.

Once they’ve gone, I close the gates onto the drive. They’re heavy, and inconvenient, but the least of my concerns. Knowing they’ll keep the press out, I lock them.

*