She smiles shyly and takes the photo frame from her bedside cabinet and presses it into my hands. ‘That’s my little boy, Ethan.’ She points to the man cuddling him. ‘And that’s my husband, Adam.’

For some reason, I don’t tell her I’ve already met them in my capacity as a journalist. Instead I say how beautiful her little boy is.

‘What about you?’ she asks. ‘Married? Children?’

‘I live with my boyfriend, Rory. We were in London but moved to Bristol last year.’

‘And how’s your mum?’

I grimace. ‘She’s still the same, but since she got married and moved to Spain I hardly see her.’ My voice is imbued with a bitterness I always try to hide.

Heather doesn’t say anything but reaches over and squeezes my hand. I realize that this is what it’s like to have an old friend, someone who knew you in childhood, someone who remembers all the hurt, the pain and the anguish you went through as well as the good times. Someone who knew you before you had the chance to put up the barriers and become a different, more cynical person. Heather is the closest thing I ever had to a sister.

‘I’m so sorry we fell out,’ she says now, her eyes dropping to her lap.

‘Me too. It’s one of my biggest regrets,’ I admit.

‘Same. It was so silly. I was angry about Flora. It was such a horrible time. I’ve missed you.’

And there it is, the phantom in the room, floating between us. Flora.

I avert my eyes, looking instead at a board on the wall with photos of Heather and her family pinned to it. ‘I pushed you away because I felt guilty,’ I explain. ‘I saw Flora the morning she disappeared. She was off to meet Dylan. They were going on a day trip to London. I never told anyone.’

She squeezes my hand again. ‘I know. I heard you talking that morning. I pretended to be asleep.’

I stare at her. ‘You knew?’

‘I was jealous, I think, that she was telling you and not me. She was angry with me because of what I did to Dylan.’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve only just found out the extent of what you did to Dylan.’

She laughs, too, but looks shamefaced. ‘It was wrong of me to attack him.’

‘No doubt he deserved it.’

‘He was a dick, wasn’t he? I never understood what Flora saw in him. Do you remember how she would play “Martha’s Harbour” over and over again because it reminded her of him? It used to drive us crazy. She was so in love.’ Her smile flickers and dies. ‘I can’t listen to that song now.’