She’s still clinging to the small hope that Heather will be allowed home. The lawyer she’d spoken to about it admitted that Heather wouldn’t get bail if she was charged with murder. Everyone has her daughter down as a gun-toting psychopath, who’s a danger to society. But it’s her Heather, her loving, gentle daughter.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a sharp knock on the door and her eyes ping open. It must be Jess. Margot had rung her earlier asking her over. She wanted her advice but, more than that, she enjoyed Jess’s company. She was young and vibrant and she made Margot feel less alone.

But when Margot answers the door it’s not Jess standing there in the dark. It’s a man she’s never seen before. He’s wearing a bobble hat and a thick scarf, wrapped up to his chin, and his breath fogs in front of him. He looks to be around her age, maybe older, his long, pointed face etched with deep grooves. Her heart starts beating faster. She’s conscious of being alone in the house. Adam is fetching Ethan from Gloria’s, and although Colin is in one of the caravans, he’s too far away to help if she needed it.

‘Are you a journalist?’ she barks, her sharp tone belying her fear.

He thrusts his hands into his pockets. ‘No. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Norman Wilson. Deirdre’s other son.’

Her insides turn to ice. Why has Deirdre’s son turned up on her doorstep out of the blue?

‘What … what do you want?’

He steps backwards, as if only just realizing his imposition. ‘I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do. I can see I’ve scared you.’ He runs his hands over his chin. ‘I was in the area, seeing to the house, you know … and I … I …’ He blinks and she recognizes the grief in his expression. My daughter did this, she thinks. My daughter is responsible for this poor man’s suffering.

She glances down at her slippers. She wants to tell him she knows how he feels. That she’s bearing the burden of loss, too. But the words won’t come.

‘I … I should probably go.’

Her inbuilt politeness is grappling with her fear, each fighting it out as to what the correct response should be: she should ask him in, offer him a cup of tea and her compassion, the polite part of her says. But he’s a strange man and they would be alone in the house, at night, says the other, more cautious, part of her.