At first I think it is Kathy that has spoken but she is sitting on the sofa, arms wrapped around herself, rocking gently back and forth. The police are quick to reassure her that the body isn’t Harry but the ‘what-ifs’ hang in the air and the mood has changed. As I look around the room the shock on everyone’s face is apparent. Although no one says anything there’s been a collective shift in our thinking. We’ve gone from hoping Harry’s just wandered off to fearing the worst. People pull on shoes and zip up coats ready for the search. My head is reeling. Burton Aerodrome is the last place that Callie visited using her satnav but before I have time to think about it properly I hear a familiar voice call ‘Hello?’ from the hallway. The lounge door is pushed open, and at the sight of Mum and Dad, standing shoulder to shoulder, a hot lump rises in my throat. I’ve been desperate for them to be in the same room. But not like this.

‘Mum.’ I cross the room and kiss her powdered cheek. She smells of baking and as she tucks her hair behind her ear I notice she has flour and butter under her nails, and I am so touched she has dropped everything to come.

‘Dad picked me up. I thought it would be quicker than waiting for a taxi.’ Mum crouches down besides Kathy and pats her hands. ‘We’ll find him. Don’t worry.’

‘Hello, Sam.’ Dad shakes Sam’s hand but there’s no smiles. No ‘pleased to see you again’. This is not a happy reunion.

‘So he went missing at the vets? Does Linda know?’ Dad asks me.

‘I’m sure the police will have spoken to Linda if they need to,’ snaps Mum.

‘I didn’t mean that I—’ begins Dad.

‘Stop it you two. This isn’t the time or place,’ I almost hiss and both my parents stare down at their shoes, and I feel our roles have been reversed.

We are heading out of the door when the police radio crackles and hisses and the policewoman holds her hand up as though she’s stopping traffic, and we stop mid-stride as she slips outside. Please let him be OK. When she returns, minutes later, she’s smiling.

‘We’ve found him. He’s fine and a car will bring him home shortly.’

Kathy slumps back on the sofa – still and silent – and I step outside and pull out my mobile. There are several missed calls and texts from Nathan, all asking what’s going on, but I have to ring Rachel before I do anything else. She’s still at the practice, waiting for news.

‘Rach? It’s OK; he’s been found,’ I blurt out before she can even say hello.

‘Thank fuck for that.’ She exhales sharply. ‘I’ve been sitting here thinking how I’d feel if it were Liam. I think I’ve aged ten years this afternoon.’

‘Sorry. I owe you a stiff drink.’

‘You owe me more than that Jenna McCauley! See you tomorrow at work.’

In the lounge, we sit and chat in low voices as the hands on the clock seem to move at half speed. It feels like hours before there is the thrum of an engine, the slamming of doors and Harry limps into the room, his pale face streaked with tears. Kathy envelops him into a hug and, for once, he doesn’t try to wriggle away.

‘Where was he?’ Sam asks.

‘Miller Road’, says the policeman who drove him home. ‘A young mum spotted him crying outside her front window and came out to check. Not many would nowadays. He has twisted his ankle but we’ve given him a proper check over and he’s fine. No harm done.’

Kathy releases her grip on Harry although she doesn’t break contact as though afraid he might disappear again. ‘What on earth were you doing there, Harry? We’ve been worried sick.’ Her voice rises in pitch as she speaks and Harry breaks into fresh sobs and the policeman talks instead.

‘He said he came out the loo and went into reception looking for Jenna.’ I shift uncomfortably in my seat. ‘Harry saw someone outside in the car park. He waved and they waved back and Harry got this idea it might be his dad come to surprise him and so he slipped out of the unlocked’ – I cringe again – ‘door and followed them but he couldn’t keep up and tried to run but twisted his ankle.’

‘And this person,’ I say, ‘what did they look like?’

‘He couldn’t give a description beyond they were wearing jeans and a black hoodie, and that could be anyone, couldn’t it?’

* * *

Over the next half an hour the lounge gradually empties of people and Dad asks if I want a lift home.

‘Stay for a bit?’ Sam says, and I nod and hug my parents goodbye. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘I’m always here if you need me,’ Dad says but he’s looking at Mum as he speaks. ‘Shall we make a move, Daph?’

‘I can get a cab, Ken,’ she says.

‘If I drive you, I could mow the lawn while I’m there, and afterwards perhaps we could talk?’

She stares up at the sky as if seeking guidance before she answers. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Only a bowl of cornflakes.’

‘That’s not a proper dinner. I’ve made a pie.’ Without looking at him she turns and walks stiffly out of the door and we watch from the window as she waits at the car. Dad opens the passenger door for her and, although she shrugs him off when he brushes her shoulder as he passes her the seatbelt, I think it might be the start of something.

* * *

As Sam drives me home his hand rustles inside a bag of humbugs and he pulls one out and fumbles to unwrap it as he steers. There was a time I’d have twisted off the plastic for him, popping it into his mouth but that feels too intimate now. The engine thrums as we wait at the traffic lights, and I study the red-bricked cottage that doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of the street we’re on. Honeysuckle weaves in and out of the trellis either side of the front door and a pale pink clematis climbs to the dusky sky.

It all looks so achingly beautiful. So achingly normal. If something awful had happened to Harry today I know I’d never have been able to see the world in quite the same way again.

Sam’s reached the chewy bit in the middle of his sweet now and his teeth grind together before he swallows.

‘Jen, I’ve been wanting to talk to you.’

I turn to look at him but his face is impassive as he watches the road ahead.

‘It’s about your… fixation with Callie.’

‘I don’t have a fixation. I have Secondary Traumatic Stress Syndrome.’

Sam twists his head to look at me and the surprise on his face is apparent.

‘You’ve already talked to someone?’

‘I went to see Vanessa on Friday. I know I’ve been a little bit… preoccupied.’

‘So you’ve taken them down, the pictures in your kitchen?’

‘How do you know about those?’ I try to keep the sharpness out of my voice.

‘Rachel told me. She’s so worried about you. We both are.’

‘You’ve been talking about me behind my back? Very bloody cosy.’ Jealousy bubbles like acid in my stomach. Rachel hadn’t mentioned that earlier.

‘It’s not like she was gossiping. She was really upset after she’d seen them. She said it was like a shrine almost.’

‘It’s not a bloody shrine. I’m interested in Callie, that’s all. Who wouldn’t be?’

‘So you’re not embroiling yourself into her family thinking you can somehow…’

‘I’m not embroiling myself anywhere. They want to see me too.’

‘Rachel said you’re trying to find out more about the night Callie died? I don’t think…’

‘Rachel’s said a bloody lot, hasn’t she?’

‘You’re lucky to have her, Jenna.’

Before my surgery I’d probably have been described as ‘honest,’ ‘loyal’, ‘kind.’ Now I’m ‘lucky,’ ‘inspirational’ or ‘courageous’ and hearing this from Sam causes me to bristle.

‘Don’t tell me what I am,’ I snap.

‘You seem to feel you owe these people.’ He’s shouting now as well, and I’m not sure if it’s the pent-up emotions of the day spilling out but I can’t seem to calm down either.

‘And you think I don’t? They saved my life.’

‘It was their choice. You don’t owe anyone, Jen.’

‘Not even you?’

He screeches to a halt on the double yellows outside the flat and we glare at each other.

‘Yes actually, I do think you bloody owe me now you come to mention it.’

‘And what? What do I owe you, Sam? The rest of my life?’

‘A proper conversation at least. You seem to care more about a bunch of strangers than you do about me.’ The vein on his forehead pulses. ‘You pushed me away because of…’

‘What if I didn’t? What if I just didn’t want to be with you any more? You can’t handle the thought of that can you, Sam?’

‘Maybe I don’t want to be with you either, did you think of that? But there are things we should talk about.’

‘You probably want to be with Rachel so you can continue your cosy conversations.’ I can’t seem to control my words, and a look of disgust flashes across his face.

‘At least Rachel’s happy to be alive. You’re not dying, Jen, not today. Stop acting like every breath could be your last, because right now, I think you’re wasting Callie’s heart.’

His words slam into my chest and I almost fall out of the car, banging the door closed after me. I march towards my flat, not turning as the wheels on Sam’s car squeal as he accelerates away.

My anger doesn’t recede as I clump up the stairs to my flat. If I wasn’t so lost in thought I might have heard it. A sound. The opening of the communal door. A creaking of the stair. Footsteps quietly creeping up behind me. But as it is, I am completely unaware that I’m not alone as I rummage through my bag for my keys until I inhale sharply in frustration, ready to huff out air and I smell it. Oil. Stale smoke. And then it only takes a split second to feel the presence behind me. Breath hot and sour against my cheek. A scream builds inside my throat but there’s already a hand clamped over my mouth, fingers knotted in my hair.