Nick was the closest to the phone, so he grabbed it, handing it straight to Maggie. ‘Hello?’ she said, followed by single-syllable responses. She hung up, deflated, turning to the others. ‘No news. They have people out making enquiries and will begin a full-scale search in the morning.’ Maggie couldn’t stand the thought of her daughter out alone in the dark Cornish countryside, possibly lost, possibly hurt. To make matters worse, an onshore wind was getting up, making an overnight storm likely.

‘Searching the coast at night would be madness,’ Nick said. ‘But it’s so frustrating not to be doing anything.’ He paced about, mirroring how they all felt: utterly helpless.

‘Agreed,’ Jason said. ‘But we’re best off trying to get a couple of hours’ sleep, then searching again at first light.’ They’d all gone back up to The Old Stables, not wanting to disturb Patrick and Shona while they discussed what to do. Angus and Jenny were still at the farmhouse.

‘I’m so sorry about this, Claire,’ Maggie said, cupping her hands around a mug of sweet tea. Her voice was flat and tired. ‘You’re all so kind.’ She managed a little smile before it fell away. ‘And I’m so angry with Rain, yet sick with worry.’ She put the mug on the table, dropping her head into her hands.

Claire exchanged glances with Jason then Nick, wondering if they thought it was as serious as she did. ‘You should try to get some sleep too,’ she said, touching Maggie’s back. ‘It’s only a few hours until dawn.’ She looked at her watch, knowing that sleep would be impossible, but any kind of rest was better than nothing.

Jason went upstairs to join Greta, who had already succumbed to exhaustion, and Maggie and Nick reluctantly went back up to the farmhouse. Claire watched from her back door as the pair walked arm in arm, eventually disappearing from the cones of light thrown out from two lanterns standing sentry at her gateway. She stood there a few minutes longer, contemplating the blackness beyond, wondering which part of the night had swallowed up Rain. She gripped the door frame hard, trying to quell the rising tears. Thoughtless teenager or something more sinister – it was all too reminiscent.

After locking the door securely – then unlocking it again in case Rain came back – she decided on a nightcap. It was unlike her, but the only thing that would guarantee an hour or two’s sleep. She sat at the kitchen table, unable to prevent her mind from going back to the first night Lenni had gone missing when, shamefully, she’d slept soundly. She’d always hated herself for that, the next morning trying to convince herself she’d been exhausted from dashing about trying to find her baby sister. Or, perhaps, as she now wondered, it was self-protection that had made her sleep that night. The only way to escape the guilt.

Claire sipped the whisky that she’d sloshed into a floral teacup.

‘Where are you, Rain?’ she whispered, tapping a finger on the table as the whisky seared her throat. She knocked back the rest, pouring another shot which didn’t do anything to allay the negative thoughts.

Some days, in her mind, Lenni had become someone’s new daughter, stolen to order because a couple unable to have children of their own had so much love to offer a trusting little girl like her. Other times she’d been taken out of the country, perhaps by gypsies or kidnapped by a child-trafficking gang. Claire imagined her alive but feral, wasted away with empty, sunken eyes.

She knocked back the second shot of whisky and put the cup in the sink. The most unthinkable scenario, she now realised, was ironically the most desirable. That Lenni was dead. She flicked off the kitchen lights and went upstairs to bed.

---

Claire woke to the sound of a storm, with rain pelting against the glass. ‘Callum,’ she whispered. Her husband groaned and rolled over, looping his arm around her waist, pulling her closer as she tried to get out of bed to close the window. It was already starting to get light. ‘Cal, no, I have to get dressed. We’re going out searching.’

‘It’s four in the bloody morning,’ he moaned, squinting at the clock. ‘We’ve had about two hours’ sleep.’

Claire swung her legs out of bed and sat up, bracing herself for what lay ahead. Her mobile phone buzzed on the bedside table. Are you awake? I’m at the door. Callum shoved a pillow over his head while Claire slipped on her dressing gown, going downstairs to let Nick in. ‘Did Maggie sleep at all?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘We’ve been up talking for the last hour. She’s going to call Rain’s father later to see if he’s heard anything.’

‘About time,’ Claire said, closing the door behind him. She couldn’t understand why Maggie hadn’t called him straight away. Married or not, he had a right to know if his daughter was in danger and Maggie had a right to know if Rain was with him.

Claire filled the kettle. She swilled out a couple of yesterday’s mugs, tossing in teabags. ‘Nick, does this feel…’ She turned away, not managing to finish the sentence, so she stood with her hand on the kettle, head down, waiting for it to boil.

‘Familiar?’

Claire poured boiling water into the mugs. ‘I don’t like it. There are already too many similarities.’ She caught his eye as she passed him his tea.

‘Losing a child is…’ Nick took a sip instead of finishing.

‘Is what?’ Claire sat down but didn’t take her eyes off him. She pulled her robe tighter around her chest.

‘It’s still raw.’ Nick’s voice was deep and low, but Claire didn’t miss the waver in it. The look on his face told her he hadn’t wanted to say anything.

‘What’s raw, Nick?’

He stared blankly ahead but then, as if the weight of his sadness was too much, his head dropped forward, chin on chest. Claire put a hand on his arm. ‘Nick?’

‘It’s Isobel. She died.’

‘Oh, Nick, I’m so very, very sorry.’ Claire clasped his hand in hers, hardly able to believe what she was hearing. Hardly able to believe he hadn’t told her before now. All the things she felt she ought to say wouldn’t come out. ‘When?’

‘A year and a half ago.’

Claire had assumed that Jess and Isobel were simply unable to make the trip to Cornwall and, for some reason, she hadn’t wanted to ask why, perhaps sensing Nick’s reticence to talk about his family. ‘I can’t even begin to contemplate what you’ve been going through.’ She released his hand, allowing him to sip his tea. He looked exhausted, still in yesterday’s clothes.

‘I may as well be honest, Claire.’ He stared at her, as if looking for something of the past, something familiar and safe. ‘The coroner’s findings were inconclusive, though an accident was stated as a possible cause of death.’

Claire nodded, waiting for him to continue.

‘Initially, the police weren’t satisfied, especially as some of the injuries didn’t quite fit the accident theory. She fell down the stairs, hit her head and suffered a massive intracranial haemorrhage. It was the bruise marks on her upper arms that made them suspect me. I was questioned but never charged.’

‘Oh my God,’ she said, knowing Nick would never hurt anyone, let alone his daughter. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything. Just believe me.’

‘Of course I believe you, Nick.’

‘My theory is that she ran downstairs to answer the front door, but tripped at the top.’ He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it. ‘A delivery driver had put a card through the letterbox. They’d written down the time of the visit, which pretty much tallied with the estimated time of her death. Isobel was alone at the time. While Jess could prove where she was, I couldn’t. It didn’t help that a neighbour made a statement saying that I was home, that he’d heard shouting, although he later retracted it as he was uncertain.’ Nick took a deep breath, drinking more tea.

‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.’

Nick shrugged. ‘Isobel was home alone most afternoons because Jess and I were too damned busy to be there for her after school. I was working all hours at the restaurant, and then I discovered Jess’s affair.’ He dragged his hands down his face, sucking in a deep breath. For the first time, Claire noticed the empty space where a ring used to be. ‘The same neighbour also told the police he’d heard me yelling a few days before Isobel died, that he saw her running out of the house in tears and that I’d chased after her, grabbing her in a threatening way. True, I did chase after her, but I didn’t want to hurt her. She’d fled the house because she heard me yelling at her mother. I’d just found out about the affair. It was her mother she was angry at, not me. Losing Isobel finished Jess and me off.’

‘You should have called me, Nick,’ she said. Her words echoed between them.

‘I’m doing OK. I have the business to focus on and the divorce will be finalised soon. It’s all about piecing back together some kind of life.’

Claire didn’t think he sounded OK at all.

‘I considered calling you for a long time,’ he said. Claire’s hand itched to take hold of his again, but she didn’t. ‘In fact, you were the first person I thought of phoning after it had happened. I knew you’d have listened, let me come and stay, given me space to grieve.’

‘Of course I would, Nick.’ Claire realised how close they were sitting to each other.

‘But you have your own life,’ he went on, looking around the kitchen. ‘And I know it’s up to me to make a new one for myself now. Fill the hole that Isobel left with something else.’

Claire took Nick’s hand again, despite the nagging voice in her head.

‘Or someone else,’ he added, just as Maggie came through the back door.