I think about the young woman taken in her house that day. What could have happened, who wanted her dead. It’s looking like the cops are focusing on two people, my husband Tom who has admitted he was there and a second person. A woman, who has yet to be identified. But that’s just because the kid heard two arguments. It’s possible it was neither of them, that there was a third person. They still haven’t located the knife used to murder her. I’m hoping they do soon, take Tom out of the picture because I know he didn’t kill her. He might tell lies but seventeen years in his arms and he has never lifted one of them.

My phone rings. Dad. Why is he ringing?

‘Dad.’

‘Sally, how are you?’

‘I’m fine, is something up?’

‘No, just calling because I was a bit worried when I didn’t see Tom in the house at the party.’

‘Everything’s fine.’ Silence, always silence. Since Mom died, myself and Dad only communicate when we have to. I lived in the house with him for five more years but we never spoke outside the necessary. Sometimes I blame myself, I should have been nicer, more considerate. But I was young and at the back of my mind this niggling question festered that I didn’t want answered. Why a brain haemorrhage?

‘I have to go, Dad, there’s a client waiting.’

‘Okay, Sal, talk soon.’

We won’t. I probably won’t hear from him again for another six months.

I’m walking towards the reception area smiling at my next client when I remember the list. Dad wasn’t on the list, he just arrived at the party uninvited.

Chapter Thirty-One

Later that evening I’m standing in the kitchen piercing the plastic on an Indian meal that has a very appetizing picture on the front of the box. I empty the heated contents on to a plate with a bit of lettuce on the side to make it look healthy before serving it to my husband.

I’m not hungry. I ate lunch with Meg and Marie earlier today in the café next to the salon, before my trip to the station.

The boys were fed dinner in the crèche, so I gave them spaghetti on toast when we got home. Amber said she ate at Sarah’s. I wonder: did she?

‘Well, did he see the picture?’ Tom says, sitting down at the table looking at the plate in front of him likes it’s Michelin starred.

‘I didn’t show him yet, I thought it would be better if you were here, bring it into their play.’

‘You’re right.’