‘No. I didn’t think of her. There’s no point waking her up in the middle of the night now. There’s nothing she can do. Wait till the morning. We may need her to mind the kids tomorrow.’

Outside the house, two more police cars, lights spinning, are parked up on the path. A few neighbours hover by the garden gate, talking, staring at us as the car comes to a halt. Rena from next door is the first to approach me.

‘I’ll take the boys in with me, don’t worry about them.’ She follows me up the garden path. The boys, the boys.

‘But they’re in bed, Rena, they’re okay.’

‘Not anymore,’ Donna says when we reach the hall door. Aaron is flopped over one of Donna’s shoulders and Cian is standing by her side holding her hand.

‘Mammy, Mammy, why are the police here?’ Bending down, I hug Cian, telling him everything is going to be okay, it’s just a little problem that Mammy and Daddy are going to fix. His eyes are wide with confusion. ‘Rena is going to bring you into her house so you can have a sleepover with Owen.’

‘But Mammy—’

My body feels like it could collapse onto the floor in front of me and sleep for a month, but I won’t let it.

‘Sorry, Sal, they woke up.’ I smile at Donna, letting her know it’s not her fault, sirens outside the window and heavy footsteps on the stairs will wake kids up.

Turning around I manage to utter a ‘thank you’ to Rena before walking into the living room where Angela Burke is sitting with some technician guy searching through Amber’s computer. Kenny is still on the sofa.

The police have already searched Amber’s room but found nothing to guide them. I want to scream, tell them to get the fuck out and look for her but my energy is drained and I’m not sure they’d listen anyway. I hope they know what they’re doing.

With a mouth as dry as chalk I walk to the kitchen to fill a glass of water. Outside the window, the moon’s shadows remind me of my brief encounter with that woman.

Does she really believe Kenny is her son? She must, if she’s doing all this. But surely that’s easy to prove, DNA, birth records. Why the madness? And why did she kill Claire McCarthy? There must be something we’re missing.

What if she’s telling the truth?

As the cold water flows down my throat, I picture the moment Amber is back in my arms. The heavy embrace, the tears, the smiles. Her soft hair brushing my face, her scent floating up my nose like cocaine to a junky. I let the vision hang in my thoughts long enough to recharge my battery. I will see her again.