It’s dark when Hollie appears in my bedroom doorway later that evening. Her long hair is windswept, her cheeks tinged with pink, as though she’s run here. I can tell from her eyes she’s been crying. Staring at her face, I’m already guessing what she’s upset about.

‘Your dad?’ I ask. He’s the only person Hollie cares about. She nods as words, tears, and snot begin pouring out of her. I’ve never seen anyone cry as messily as Hollie does.

‘He was talking to someone on his phone.’ Her hair gets in the way as she breaks off to wipe her face on her sleeve. ‘Whoever it was, they’re a bastard.’ Her voice is filled with hatred.

Not wanting my mother to overhear, I glance towards the open door, then lean towards Hollie, curious, asking quietly, ‘What were they talking about?’

Her lip wobbles. ‘I can’t tell anyone.’ Then her shoulders start to shake. ‘Do you know how that feels?’

I’ve no idea what she’s talking about. ‘You can tell me, Hollie.’

She shakes her head. ‘I can’t. You’re too young.’

I wonder what she means. She’s only two years older than me.

But then she comes towards me, awkwardly stroking my hair before perching on the end of my bed as she tries to get control of herself. When she turns to look at me, her face is tear-stained, her distress obvious. ‘I wish I could tell you, Niamh. But I can’t.’

Chapter Two

Elise

‘I hope you haven’t forgotten about tonight.’ Without offering a greeting or explaining why he’s late, Andrew walks into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. He never justifies anything. Even off duty, he behaves with the same air of authority he has at work.

My heart sinks as I remember. He’s talking about drinks in the pub – a village tradition – meant to celebrate the end of January and a month off alcohol, which no-one ever actually achieves. I had forgotten. If I hadn’t, I’d have invented an excuse, but it’s too late for that now. ‘I had, actually.’ I pause, wanting to say I’m too tired as it’s not untrue – I had an early start this morning. Instead, I glance at the clock and give in to the inevitable. It’s seven thirty. ‘What time is everyone meeting?’

‘Eight.’ Evidently changing his mind, Andrew switches off the kettle and uncorks a bottle of red wine.

‘Fine.’ My mind is restless. If she lives locally, as I suspect, the population of the village is so small that she’ll almost certainly be there. The probability is I’ll know instantly – I usually do. ‘I’ll go and change.’