When Flora went missing everyone rallied around. For weeks her friends would sit with her, or bring homemade lasagnes, letting her talk or cry, comforting her, helping her with the business and the horses. But those same people are now acting as though she has a contagious disease. She’s no longer somebody to be pitied. She’s the mother of a killer.

Margot’s never felt more alone.

So, when Jessica suggested coming over Margot found herself agreeing, desperate for company.

It’s just gone eight when the doorbell rings but Margot’s ready for it, like a dog that’s been left in the house for days by its owner. She opens the door onto the starless night, a moth buzzing around the outside light that’s illuminating Jessica. Beyond her is darkness, thick and encompassing, as though they’re under a giant tent. The campsite isn’t visible from here, or the stables, but she can hear the horses whinnying to each other.

Jess isn’t in her llama coat today. Instead she’s huddled in an oversized parka that swamps her frame and makes her look young and vulnerable. She also seems tired and a little sad. Gone is the hard-faced journalist expression she usually wears, making Margot wonder if it’s all just an act. She doesn’t blame her. By the sound of it, the poor girl has had to stand on her own two feet for so long that it’s not surprising she had to toughen up. She remembers Simone as a crisp, efficient woman, who made sure Jess was clean and fed and clothed in the latest fashions, but she wasn’t particularly warm towards her, and would think nothing of leaving her alone all day and late into the evening. When Heather had mentioned it, worrying about her friend in her usual way, Margot’s heart had ached at the thought of small, scrappy Jess sitting alone in the house with nobody for company, having to help herself to her own microwave dinner while she waited for her mother to get back from work or her latest date. So, Margot had welcomed her into their family.

It feels like she’s doing the same again, if under different circumstances this time.

Her breath fogs out in front of her and Margot thinks again of the young couple in the caravan, trying to get warm. At least Colin is now hardened to it.

‘Thank you for coming over,’ Margot says, opening the door wider to allow Jess over the threshold. She starts to take off her trainers, but Margot tells her not to. ‘The boards need re-sanding. This place is going to the dogs.’ It’s too much upkeep, now that it’s just her.

She ushers Jess into the kitchen. The Aga is on, and Jess stands next to it, warming her hands.