Two weeks she’d been missing. Fourteen days and cold nights and they were still no nearer to finding her. Mark studied the latest photo of Daisy: a pretty, rosy-cheeked child, similar in colouring to Poppy, she didn’t look unhappy, scared or lonely. There were no shadows haunting her smile. She was just a normal, trusting little girl. A little girl whose innocence had probably been irretrievably broken. Swallowing back the bile in his throat, trying to dismiss the images that thought evoked, Mark dragged his hands through his hair. He didn’t know why, but he was sure she was alive. The pictures that flashed through his dreams every night, elusive and wispy at first, were now so clear he could almost reach out and touch her; her fear so tangible, he could feel it. He could even smell her surroundings: mildew, damp moss, leather. Definitely a property in the countryside somewhere, but it could be anywhere. Was he being fanciful? Some might call this a hunch. Mark worried it was just wishful thinking.

Feeling utterly jaded, he sat heavily back in his chair. So where did he go from here? Forensics had found other spatters of blood, but they were so small as to be insignificant, and possibly from the foot injury the parents had offered as explanation for the stain on the stairs. Whilst not ruling them out yet, the parents looked to have played no part in her disappearance.

Searches were continuing locally and nationally, but Mark was running out of ideas. Unable to ignore the nagging instinct that she was still alive, he’d taken it on himself to revisit some of the neighbouring properties. Hawthorn Farm, a mile or so from his own house, was on his agenda later. The owner, a recently bereaved widow, wouldn’t welcome another intrusion into her life, but he had to do something. She had enough on her plate with the farm up for sale and a son who was amiable enough but not the brightest tool in the box. He’d once been arrested, nine years ago, according to the details on file. The charge, indecent exposure, had been dropped when a local guy had marched his fifteen-year old daughter into the station. Turned out her and her mate had decided it would be a ‘laugh’ to remove ‘drippy Dylan’s’ clothes while he’d been skinny-dipping in the river. Dylan, sixteen years old at the time, had never lived it down. Kids could most definitely be cruel sometimes. Now living in one of the small cottages on the farm, he seemed harmless, with no other misdemeanours or mishaps on his record. Impressionable, gullible, but harmless. Still, though, Mark wanted to revisit the farm in the vain hope that something had been missed.

Sighing, he looked back to his computer. Rereading statements wasn’t likely to produce anything new, but he had to do something. Pulling up another file, Mark scrolled through it, reaching distractedly for his ringing mobile as he did.

‘Mark, hi, it’s me,’ Mel said, over the noise of Evie crying, which immediately made Mark tense up. Evie was now waking several times most nights and Mel seemed permanently on edge. But then… Mark tried to suppress it, but the thought popped into his head anyway… Mel hadn’t actually had to see to her at night over the two weeks since Jade had moved in. Jade’s antennae always seemed to be on red alert. He’d met her on the landing a couple of times over the last week (he’d taken to wearing boxers at night now, just in case).

‘Did you remember to book the table for tonight?’ Mel asked him.

Crap. ‘No, sorry.’ Mark squeezed his eyes closed, realising he’d forgotten. They were supposed to be going out with the Chandlers to celebrate Emily’s birthday, and it had completely slipped his mind. The broken nights, coupled with his increasing nightmares, were taking their toll on him too.

‘Oh Mark, honestly… I thought you’d done it days ago.’ Mel sounded utterly despairing.

‘I’ll do it now,’ Mark promised.

‘Forget it. I’ll do it,’ Mel said tetchily. ‘I doubt they’ll have a table now anyway.’

‘Mel, I’ll do it,’ Mark assured her, concerned by her obvious agitation. He’d been trying not to worry about it, putting Mel’s irritability down to stress, but, frankly, he was alarmed. Whether or not she was getting up in the night to see to Evie, she was exhausted. She looked exhausted. And where previously Mel would have been unfazed by something like a dripping tap – grabbing the tool box, in fact, and changing the washer herself – the one that was constantly dripping in the utility was driving her mad. Mark had put it on his weekend to-do list. It was no big deal – but to Mel it obviously was. She’d looked… edgy. It was the only way to describe it. It just wasn’t like her.

He was about to reassure her again that he would ring the restaurant and then call her straight back when Mel practically growled down the phone, ‘Oh for God’s sake, now the bloody fuse box has blown. We really need to spend some serious money on this house, Mark, or move.’ And with that, she ended the call.

Staring askance at his mute phone for a second, Mark shook his head. Mel had chosen the house. A detached farmhouse in the peaceful countryside, but with neighbours close enough for it not to feel isolated, she’d loved it on sight, particularly the outbuilding, which was perfect for her workshop. A fantastic family home, she’d said, her glorious green eyes dancing with excitement as she’d viewed it. She’d been willing him to love it too. Mark had, but with reservations. Despite the obvious attractions – oak flooring, oak joinery, stone fireplaces and the airy feel to it, thanks to the many windows looking onto the spectacular Herefordshire countryside – it was going to need a hell of a lot of money spent on it. Even with the small trust fund Mel had been left by her mother, the renovation was going to have to be done as and when finances allowed, they’d both been aware of that. That hadn’t been a problem either. Until now, apparently.

Mark swallowed back an uneasy feeling, wondering whether her recent behaviour might be symptomatic of something more, something he hadn’t realised she might be struggling with. She hadn’t suffered postnatal depression after having Poppy, but might she be suffering with it now? Mark had no idea. He was debating whether to suggest Mel make a doctor’s appointment, which he was loath to do, recalling how hard she’d worked to be free of doctors and psychotic drugs after losing Jacob, but…

‘Hello, earth to Mark,’ Lisa said, standing next to his desk.

‘Sorry.’ Mark shook himself. ‘Miles away.’

‘I gathered. Coffee,’ she said, parking a mug next to his PC. ‘You look like shit,’ she added bluntly.

Running a hand over his unshaven cheek, Mark straightened himself up in his chair. He guessed he did, which wouldn’t go down well with Edwards. ‘Cheers, Lisa,’ he said, then feeling in need of a caffeine kick, picked up his coffee. ‘You do my ego the world of good.’

‘I’m thinking a decent night’s sleep might do you more good.’ Lisa cocked her head to one side, studying him thoughtfully. ‘I take it Evie’s disturbing your beauty sleep? Not that you need much beauty sleep, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ Mark concurred, his mouth twitching into a smile. ‘Her routine’s gone to pot,’ he confided, glad, not for the first time, that he could talk to Lisa. It made life a whole lot easier at work, particularly now Cummings was back after his sudden mystery illness. It had been no surprise to Mark he’d gone off sick, probably hoping to avoid a confrontation with him. Mark’s anger boiled afresh as he recalled his treatment of Tanya Stevens.

Rolling her eyes, Lisa empathised. ‘Babies.’ She sighed expansively. ‘If anyone had told me what I was in for, I’d never have had sex.’

‘Still, at least it was only the twice, hey, Moyes? Brave bloke,’ Cummings commented crassly, winking over his shoulder as he swung by towards the coffee machine.

Lisa settled for giving him a finger rather than verbalising her thoughts. ‘I take it you’ve tried all the usual tricks?’ she asked Mark. ‘White noise, temperature, lighting, varying the rocking, breathing deeply if none of the above work?’

‘Yup, pretty much everything. Or rather, Jade has.’

‘Jade?’

‘The babysitter.’

‘Ah.’ Lisa nodded, but looked perplexed. ‘I didn’t know you had one.’

‘We do now,’ Mark said. ‘Live in, thank God. She’s amazing with the kids, but—’

‘Night excursions in the car not working then, sir?’ Cummings enquired sarcastically, as he sauntered back in the other direction.

‘Fuck off, Cummings,’ said Lisa, obviously noticing Mark’s agitation and answering for him.

Mark glanced disdainfully after Cummings. He really was a piece of work. ‘Do you mind if we, er…’ Looking back to Lisa, he nodded towards the door, where he could hopefully grab some advice about Mel out of earshot of the creep. Lisa had been a friend to Mel when she’d needed one, and with two kids of her own, certainly had a good perspective on that side of things.

‘With pleasure. There really is an obnoxious stench in here.’ Curling a lip in Cummings direction, Lisa about-faced and headed for the door.

‘So, what’s up?’ she asked Mark, once they were both in the corridor.

Mark started walking. The last thing he wanted was Cummings knowing any more of his business. ‘Not sure,’ he said, running a hand over his neck. ‘Maybe nothing.’

‘Which is why you’re coming in late again, not shaving…’

‘That obvious, is it?’ Mark would have to do something about that. ‘It’s Mel,’ he said. ‘I mean, it might be nothing to do with her and all to do with me, but she’s… I don’t know… tired all the time, edgy.’

‘Well, she’s bound to be tired with Evie’s feeding routine all over the place, Mark. It’s bloody hard work getting up umpteen times a night.’

‘I know, I know.’ Mark sighed and massaged his temples. ‘It’s just, she’s not getting up at night. That’s the point. She’s dead to the world. Doesn’t even hear Evie. Jade sees to her. She usually gets to her before I do. There’s plenty of milk in the freezer, so it’s not a problem, but…’ Not quite sure how to communicate what the problem really was, wondering again whether there even was one, he trailed uselessly off.

Lisa scanned his face. ‘You’re worried about her.’

‘A bit.’ Mark admitted, relieved. He felt like a traitor discussing Mel behind her back, but he really needed to know if he was being paranoid here – and Lisa would be the one to tell him if he was. ‘I might be blowing things out of proportion, but given what happened before, well, I wondered if you’d drop by on some pretext or other. Tell me what you think.’

‘Consider it done. I haven’t seen her in ages. It’ll be good to have a natter. I’m off early tonight – Anna’s got a dance class. I’ll pop by once I’ve dropped her off. And I’ll check out that babysitter while I’m at it, see if she fancies a bit of moonlighting. She sounds too good to be true.’