The pub smells of spilled beer and woodsmoke. A fire burns in the grate, and snow has started to fall again. An old man with a scarf and flat cap sips his pint. It’s warm and I yawn, overcome by an urge to close my eyes and drift off. Sleep proved elusive last night. The bed was comfortable, but I stayed awake, blinking into darkness, watching morning colour in the sky.

I tried so hard to forget what I knew. For years, I carried the scars of our estrangement, deeply hurt that, in spite of everything, it was Shannon who cut all contact with me. As I grew older, I distanced myself from other girls, never quite trusting the fool’s gold of friendship. I told myself I was a child, misremembering the truth of that night. We all have a past and this was mine. Put it away. Don’t think about it.

But now I’m back in the place that has haunted the hollows of my life and the ghosts of my childhood walk alongside me, murmuring in my ear.

When tomorrow’s edition hits the news stands, I’ll be the story too.

Ten minutes later, when I’m sipping soda water flavoured with too much lime, Lawrie appears in the pub. He’s on the telephone again, and his face is radiant, like the sun is rising in it.

He catches my eye and gives me a thumbs up. While I wait for him to finish, I text Aunt Peg and tell her I miss her. Courage and caution, Brinley Ada Booth. That’s what she’d say if she was here. Except this time I’ve thrown caution to the wind and I don’t feel brave at all.

I’m expecting Lawrie to say I’ve done a great job, that Colin is cock-a-hoop at my copy, and already I’m smiling inside because a perverse part of me wants to impress them, but instead he finishes his call, slams the table with his hand and says, ‘Yes!

‘You have checked out of the hotel, haven’t you?’ He’s not looking at me when he says this, his fingers flying over the touchscreen of his phone.

‘I’ve just done it. My bag’s in the car. Why? What’s going on?’

Lawrie looks around to make sure none of the other journalists are in the pub and leans in, his mouth close to my ear. ‘Drink up. My police contact has come through.’

I stare at him, not certain what he’s driving at.

He gestures at me to hurry up. ‘But we need to get a move on. I think the Daily Mail is on to it too.’

‘On to what?’

He grins, suddenly wolfish. ‘I’ve only got a bloody address.’

The penny drops with a loud clunk. ‘For Shannon Carter?’