In my dream I was crying, and as I wake my cheeks are wet. At first I’m disorientated because I’m not in bed. My arms are pins-and-needles numb lying heavy on the kitchen table. I sit up and sharp pains shoot through my neck. The mind map is stuck to my cheek and I peel it from my skin and rub at the drool that has crusted around the corner of my mouth. Outside the sky is streaked with apricot and the glowing numbers on the hob tell me it is 6 a.m. I check my phone. There are no updates for Burton Aerodrome, but later, I’m picking at the scrambled eggs my tumbling stomach doesn’t want, when my mobile beeps. I seize it from the table hoping for news. Instead it’s a text from Nathan confirming he will pick me up from work at midday, and a flash of annoyance streaks through me. I can’t go to work. I can’t see Nathan. I’ve stuff to figure out here, but Owen’s name leaps out at me from the mind map and I think if Callie knew him then Nathan must too. ‘Looking forward to seeing you’ I reply but there’s a dullness in my chest and my teeth are clamped together so hard my temples throb.

* * *

I look up as someone enters the practice and all I see is a pair of denim clad legs, and a lady’s head; her body obscured by a huge wicker basket full of roses and lilies.

‘Delivery for Jenna McCauley?’

‘That’s me!’ I take the flowers, turning my head away from their overpowering fragrance. Setting them on reception I slice open the envelope and read the card –

– and at their names the familiar clamp tightens around my chest.

At twelve I am pushing the door to leave when Kelly calls: ‘Don’t forget your flowers, Jenna.’

‘I’ll leave them here until tomorrow.’

‘Do you mind if you don’t?’ She pulls a face. ‘I have hay fever.’ She sniffs hard, and I swallow my irritation.

Petals fall on the floor as I snatch the flowers, and I don’t pick them up.

* * *

Nathan is sitting waiting in his car. ‘They look expensive,’ he says, twisting around in his seat as I place the bouquet in the back. ‘Secret admirer?’

‘They’re from a grateful patient.’ The lie trips easily from my tongue.

‘That’s nice. Isn’t there a card?’ He peers among the flowers.

‘No. They brought them in personally.’

‘They’re a florist are they, this patient?’

I am momentarily confused.

‘It’s just I saw the lady bring them in from her van.’ There’s a beat before he continues: ‘anyway, do you like art? There’s an amateur exhibition in the church hall on Chiltern Road’ But he doesn’t wait for an answer, indicating left as he pulls out of the car park. His eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

* * *

There is a three pound entrance fee to get into the exhibition, which includes a piping hot drink in a thin Styrofoam cup that burns my fingers, and a custard cream. It’s gloomy and chilly inside. A faint whiff of TCP hangs in the air. Goosebumps blanket my skin as we wander around the hall. The art ranges from startlingly good to what-on earth-is-that?

‘You’re very quiet. Are you OK?’ Nathan asks, and I feel the heat of his palm on the small of my back and there’s a fluttering deep in my belly. I can’t work out whether it’s excitement or revulsion. The closeness we’d felt on Friday night has vanished and now I feel awkward in his company.

‘I’m fine, just a little tired.’ I step closer to the painting of an orange cat shaped like a rectangle, so his hand falls away.

‘We can go back to yours if you want to?’

‘No!’ The word rockets from my mouth louder than I intended, and I ignore the hurt that flashes across his face and walk over to the next display screen. A small beach scene catches my eye. Pastel beach huts strewn with bunting line up as though they’re preparing to race towards the apple green sea. A lone pink bucket and spade sits on honeycomb-coloured sand. It reminds me of the paintings Amanda used to do, the ones I’d seen on the wall in their house. It reminds me why I’m here with Nathan.

‘Sorry.’ I reach out and touch his arm as he joins me. ‘I’m shattered. I didn’t get much sleep last night after Harry going missing.’

‘That’s understandable. I thought you were annoyed with me for turning up unannounced on Saturday. I could tell you were uncomfortable having me in your flat.’

‘It wasn’t that, it’s just I wasn’t expecting visitors. I hadn’t washed up.’

‘And you didn’t want me to wander into the kitchen to see it?’

‘It?’ My stomach contracts into a tiny ball as I think of the mind map, but then I realise he’s referring to the washing up and I keep talking. ‘Saturday must have been hard, being Callie’s birthday.’

‘Every day is hard. Birthday or not.’ There’s a sadness in his eyes.

‘You must think about her all the time? About the night of the accident? If you want to talk… ’

‘Shall we move on?’

At first I think he means the conversation but he gestures to the next display board. I find I can’t tear myself away from the beach painting and, on a whim, I find myself buying it for Amanda. It’s the last day of the exhibition so the artist is happy to let me take it away, and while he wraps it in tissue paper Nathan asks me to hold his jacket so he can go to the loo. I pay for the painting and slip it into my bag and move towards the toilet door. Nathan’s jacket is heavy in my hand; it swings against my leg and something hard and solid bumps into my thigh. His phone. I glance up at the toilet door. It’s shut and I know I don’t have long if I want to check Nathan’s contacts. See if Owen is listed. Surely if Callie did know him, Nathan might too? My hand is trembling as I reach into the jacket pocket and pull out the phone. I touch the home button and the screen illuminates. A photo of Callie sitting cross-legged by a lake, gazing out into the distance, unaware she was being watched. There’s no passcode and I navigate the menu, scrolling down the contacts. There’s a listing for a ‘Owen’ but before I can open the contact to see if there’s an address the handset slips from my grasp, hitting the floor with a clatter. I crouch and wrap my fingers around it, but before I can stand Nathan’s shoes come to rest before me and I look up, aware that my face is flaming.

‘What are you doing?’ Nathan asks stretching out his hand.

‘Sorry. It fell out of your pocket.’

I give him the phone and he glances at the screen before stuffing it into his trouser pocket, and he grasps both my wrists, pulling me to my feet. His grip is tight. Almost too tight and I can’t quell the feeling of panic in my stomach. The smell of the air freshener wafting from the toilet as the door swings open again is sickening. My phone rings and Nathan releases me but as I delve into my bag for my handset I can still feel hands tight around my wrists, fingertips pressing into the soft flesh, crushing my bones. I feel hot. Dizzy. Faint. My screen is flashing ‘unknown number’, and I step away from Nathan as I accept the call.

‘Hello?’

‘Jenna. It’s Joe. Callie’s uncle. I hope you don’t mind me calling; I got your number from Tom.’

I glance at Nathan but he’s engrossed in one of the paintings. ‘Not at all. Is everything OK?’

‘Not really.’ His sigh comes down the phone so hard I can almost feel a puff of air against my ear. ‘Callie’s birthday has really set Amanda back and Tom’s really struggling. He tries to put a brave face on all the time but after the first birthday without her, and Sophie not being here too, it’s pushed them over the edge. Amanda wouldn’t get out of bed at all yesterday, or today.’

‘I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? I’d still like to help you find Sophie, if I can.’

‘You could help by spending some time with Amanda?’

His voice is quiet, drowned out by the squeaking of the tea trolley as it is pushed past me and I turn to face the wall, pressing the heel of my hand against my right ear.

‘It will give Tom a break. I help as often as I can but I’m on the road for the next few days. It worries me sick to see him so stressed, it’s not good for his heart. It helped them both that you were there for Callie’s birthday, I know it did. You’re not family but there’s a bond.’

‘I’ll do what I can. I’ll give Tom a ring and see when they’re free. I’ve got something for Amanda anyway.’

‘Like they ever have plans! They’re both at home now. I’ve just spoken to Tom.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Sorry, you’re probably busy?’ Joe asks, and I hesitate but how can I refuse them? The family of my heart.

‘No, I could go now,’ I reply.

‘You’re a star. Thanks so much.’

I disconnect the call and swing around. Nathan is standing directly behind me.

‘Who was that?’ he asks, and I can’t instantly think of an answer as I wonder how long he’s been there. What he’s overheard. Did I say Tom and Amanda or Callie or was it only Joe who mentioned them?

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Nathan says and he smiles.

But as he repeats exactly the same phrase from my dream last night sharp, jagged images spring to the forefront of my mind eclipsing my ability to answer; bruised face, missing money, feeling trapped. Nathan continues to stare at me, waiting for me to speak, and my whole body grows cold. He can’t be the person Callie was scared of, can he? He was so tender when he made love to me, it doesn’t seem possible.

‘Jenna? Are you OK?’

‘I’m so sorry. I have to go.’

‘Was it something I said?’

‘No, no. It’s just a… it’s a… It’s a friend. In need.’

‘Is it the person who sent you flowers?’

‘No. It’s…’ I trail off, unsure how to explain myself. ‘It’s an emergency.’

‘I’ll drive you,’ he says.

‘It’s a long way…’

‘I insist.’ He sounds pleasant but I think there’s an icy undertone to his voice, the same as in my dream, or am I just imagining it?

We step out into the bright sunshine. Standing at the crossing I glance sidewards at Nathan – did he hurt Callie? The beep-beep-beep of the green man tells me it is safe. But as Nathan grips my elbow, guiding me across the road, safe is the last thing I feel, and I wonder how I’m going to get away.