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Sam sits at the kitchen table, marvelling at how spotlessly clean and tidy everything is. There’s a chill in the September air today; it’s been gradually edging in for a few days. He keeps his coat on – Judith and Peter’s house doesn’t feel much above the temperature outside.

‘So, how is everything going?’ Judith says, still not turning round. It strikes Sam how she is very dressed up to clean the house, even if there’s nothing for her to get dirty on. He feels a twinge of sadness at the idea of Judith rattling around this house all day in her pristine outfit, bleaching away at stains that aren’t there.

‘Not too bad, thanks.’

‘Do you have children, Sam?’ She keeps on rubbing at the same spot on the counter.

Sam considers before responding. What harm can it do? ‘I do. I have one daughter, Natalie. She’s just started university.’

Judith turns round now, unhooking the apron from around her neck. ‘She was so good at art, you know. Victoria. She really had something. All mums say that, but it is actually true. Would you like to see some?’

‘Sure, I’d love to.’

Sam waits at the kitchen table, listening to the clock ticking. Judith comes back with a large black folder with handles. She opens it up and spills sheets of coloured paper across the table.

‘She never even got to try oil painting, you know. But I bet she would have been good at it. She wanted to. My fault.’ Judith purses her lips. ‘I didn’t want the place getting messy. That stuff doesn’t come out.’

She turns over some of the pictures, large sheets with big, loose pastel pictures on. Others are small, postcard-sized watercolour paintings. Sam examines a chalky one of two figures looking out of the window of the house, the artist clearly on the other side of the glass, outside. The picture is smudgy and abstract because of the pastels, and they’ve blurred over time. But you can also tell straight away that it’s Peter and Judith. Somehow, Victoria has managed to capture something of Judith’s tense, uptight demeanour, Peter’s edge. Must have always had it, even before Victoria’s death, Sam thinks.

There’s a watercolour of Sylvie on a swing, leaning back, hair almost brushing the floor. Judith pulls out the photo that it was painted from. The sense of movement, the light have been captured in the painting.

‘I love this one,’ Judith says, sorting through, stopping for a moment to look at each picture. It’s another postcard-sized one of Sylvie and Victoria, a sketch in soft red and blue pencil.

‘Do you know how she did this one?’ Judith says.

Sam shakes his head, knowing Judith wants to tell him herself.

‘She drew it in about ten minutes while the two of them were looking in the mirror.’ She points out through the kitchen door and into the hall, where a long oblong mirror hangs against the wall. ‘She wouldn’t let Sylvie move. Thought she was going to burst with trying not to laugh.’ Judith takes the picture off the table and puts it to one side.

‘Do you mind if I…?’ Sam says, getting the video camera out of its bag.

‘Fire away,’ Judith says. ‘I don’t think people really saw her as an arty type. It would be good to show that side of her. But don’t you think that she definitely had something? I think it could have taken her somewhere.’

‘Did she want to be an artist?’ Sam asks. ‘When she finished school?’

Judith laughs. ‘Do you know what she wanted to do? She wanted to go on cruise ships. She’d heard about jobs on board as a photographer and she wanted to do that… I’d have been happy for her to do that, though. I’d have missed her, but whatever she wanted, I wouldn’t have minded.’

A key turns in the front door and Judith scrambles to put the pictures back inside the folder, folding the flap over quickly and sliding it behind the door. ‘He doesn’t like to see me dwelling and moping. It upsets him. So…’ She mimes zipping up her lips.

‘OK,’ Sam mouths.

Peter burps loudly in the hall before coming into the kitchen. ‘Oops, sorry, love. Didn’t know we had company.’ He wafts a stale, beery smell in with him and there’s a slight slur to his words.

Judith purses her lips.

‘Yes, yes, I had a lunchtime livener. Is there a problem with that, dearest?’ His voice has an edge to it. The atmosphere in the room tenses.

‘Sam is here to interview us. About our daughter. You might remember?’

‘Oh right, yes.’ This time he burps more quietly into the O of his fist, releasing another draught of beer into the air. Judith bristles again.

‘It’s fine,’ Sam says, starting to get up. ‘I can come back another day. Tomorrow, perhaps.’ He doesn’t have any intention of actually leaving.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Judith says, voice taut. ‘We’ll do it today.’

She pours coffee into a cup and hands it to Peter, their eyes locked.

‘Shall we go into the living room?’ It’s an order, not a question.

They walk through to the next room. The cream carpet looks brand new, like it’s never been walked on.

Peter knocks the black coffee back and grimaces, sitting next to Judith on the sofa. He puts the cup down on the table and Judith slips a coaster underneath it wordlessly. Sam sets the camera recording straight away. He catches Peter rolling his eyes.

‘Are you sure you’re ready to do this?’ Sam asks.

‘We’ll never be ready, but we’ll do it,’ Judith says. She grabs Peter’s hand and the veins in hers protrude, knuckles white.

‘OK, I know this won’t be easy,’ Sam says, ‘but it’s important to bring Victoria to life for people, to engage them with her story and who she was as a person. Hopefully jog some memories, rattle some cages.’

Judith smiles tightly and nods, leaning forwards to rearrange a couple of magazines on the coffee table, lining them all up perfectly.

‘So, how would you describe Victoria?’ Sam says. The small gold carriage clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly.

‘She was just a lovely girl,’ Judith says, emotions already rising to the surface. She looks up at the ceiling, the veins in her neck jutting out. ‘It sounds so obvious when you say it. Everything sounds like the type of thing people always say when someone dies. It’s hard to “bring her to life”, as you put it.’

‘That’s because she’s dead.’

Peter’s tone is so deadpan, the words he’s actually said take a few seconds to catch up with Sam. Judith looks like she’s going to react for a moment, but then it’s gone again.

‘We had our moments.’ Peter pushes on anyway. But he and Judith are both squeezing each other’s hands tightly now, Judith’s irritation with him seemingly dissipated – or glossed over for the camera. ‘I mean she was a teenage girl and she’d have her tantrums and all. You know what teenagers are like – it’s a live chemistry experiment, isn’t it? It was all new to me. I’m one of three brothers. Michael – Sylvie’s dad – and I, we’d have a pint and compare war stories. Sylvie was the same. It was nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, Victoria and me, we’d have some right old ding dongs but we’d always sort things out, wouldn’t we, Jude? She was a smart girl, bright – she had a bit of spirit. Crikey, some days it was like an explosion in a fireworks factory round here, but it would blow over and we’d laugh about it. Judith always said she took after me in that way. Didn’t you, love?’

Judith smiles and nods at him. ‘Both a bit fiery.’

‘And what was she like in the run up to her death? Was there anything unusual?’

Peter shifts in his seat, clears his throat. Judith is looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

‘I wouldn’t say so, no,’ Peter says. ‘Of course, I’ve asked myself many times, scrutinised a lot of things that we should have done or that we could have done differently. But, no, she was just a normal teenage girl enjoying the summer holidays.’

Sam changes tack. He has to steel himself to say it. ‘So, if we can turn our attention to the night she went missing…’

Judith’s expression hardens. Peter’s temples flex.

‘You’d been to a party at Margaret and Michael’s place?’

Judith nods, her lips pursed.

‘Was it a summer barbecue or…?’

Judith looks to Peter for reassurance, but he stares straight ahead, his breathing rising and falling slowly in his chest.

‘Sylvie hasn’t told you…?’ Judith says.

‘Well, I haven’t…. Why?’

Judith looks to Peter again, but he refuses to give in. She starts off uncertain. ‘Well, it was a… a kind of… it was a party for Michael.’

‘A birthday party?’

‘No,’ she says, failing to hide the exasperation. ‘He was… he was dying. You really should talk to Sylvie. I feel awkward being the one to tell you. I mean I suppose it’s no secret, is it? But still.’ She draws the pendant from side to side across the chain on her necklace.

‘Dying?’ Sam says. Nothing he’d read to date had mentioned that. None of the police reports, nothing on the forum.

‘Brain tumour,’ Peter says, abrupt. ‘Couldn’t do anything for him.’

Judith flinches again, presumably at the brusqueness of his tone. ‘Erm… yes, so it was kind of a goodbye in a way, while he was still sort of himself. He’d asked for it, Margaret said. They used to have lots of parties and barbecues round at their house. Because of the garden out the back, you know? He didn’t want anything to change, asked specifically that people didn’t talk about his illness that day. It was a celebration, Margaret said.’

‘He wanted it to be a happy occasion. Didn’t want people fixating on the illness,’ Peter interjects.

‘Was there anything special about the day apart from that? Anything out of the ordinary happen?’

Judith shakes her head, wrapping her arms around herself.

‘Not apart from the bloody obvious,’ Peter says.

Judith tries to compensate for him again. ‘We went round to the party in the afternoon. Two or three-ish, I think. Peter and I came away about ten. Didn’t we, love?’ She looks at Peter, who is nodding.

Long time to be drinking, Sam thinks. But not an unusual amount of time to be somewhere like a barbecue either. He steels himself again. This is the point where it would be kinder to back off, but he knows he has to push on.

‘And when you got in, after the party, were you waiting up for Victoria or…? Was it usual for you to come home before her?’

‘Her curfew was eleven during the summer,’ Judith snaps in quickly. ‘It was still a warm night. There were still a few people at the party when we left. It was normal for her to be round at Sylvie’s until eleven-ish, yes. Or to stay over. And Sylvie would stay here, too, at least one night a week usually, on the camp bed.’

She carries on of her own accord. ‘Usually, most nights, we’d be up until Victoria came home. Always, in fact. I mean, of course we were. That’s the thing about it. We weren’t these parents that just let their kids run wild. Not at all. We always knew where she was and we’d always stay up until she was in. One of us would anyway. Usually me, because Peter would be working early most days.’ She looks at him again for approval but he doesn’t engage.

‘So, this night you… didn’t wait up for her?’ Sam asks.

‘We’d had quite a bit to drink,’ Judith says, pushing her chin down into her chest as if to obscure the words. She pulls it up again. ‘Everyone had.’

Peter speaks more forcefully then, still looking straight ahead. ‘It isn’t a bloody crime having a few drinks, Judith. They wanted us to go round for a party, remember? The man was dying, for Christ’s sakes. Least we could do was go along with the whole thing. And, frankly, it was a bit weird, yes. I don’t know about anyone else, but I needed a drink to get me through it. I presume most were the same. A few said as much.’

‘Of course it’s not a crime. And you’re right, it isn’t every day you go to a party like that.’ Sam presses on, glances to check that the camera is recording. ‘I am sorry to push you. I just want to be clear. So, you both waited up or…?’

Peter’s jaw is tight, mandible twitching almost imperceptibly.

‘I went to bed,’ Judith says, choking back sobs. ‘Sometimes I wonder if someone had been watching the house or something. Because we always stayed up. Did they know we’d gone to bed? Had they been waiting?’ She looks at Sam as if he has the answer.

‘Judith, please!’ Peter’s voice. It makes Sam jump and Judith flickers too. ‘Talking like that doesn’t help.’

The room settles again. The clock clicks round. Sam looks out into the garden; the neatness of the lawn, perfectly manicured flowers.

‘Peter stayed downstairs and waited.’ Judith rubs his arm and there’s a twitch of something across his face. He doesn’t look at Sam or Judith or the camera. His eyes are open but his gaze is detached.

‘I fell asleep on the sofa,’ he says, measured calmness in his voice, sliding his jaw from side to side. He breathes in through his nose and out again slowly. Sam wonders if it’s a technique someone has taught him. ‘I woke up at about three in the morning. I got a glass of water and I went to bed.’

His voice is unnerving in its calmness. It feels like something he has practised saying. Perhaps as a way to come to terms with it himself, Sam thinks. The obvious question hangs in the air, throbbing and unanswered. Sam pushes himself to let the silence linger but still no one says anything.

‘Did you check in on Victoria?’ Sam asks, as even-voiced as he can.

‘No,’ Peter says, blank. ‘I went straight to bed.’

Judith fills the space eventually. ‘He thought that she was either in bed or staying at Sylvie’s, didn’t you, love? I’d have been the same, I’m sure. I wouldn’t just go into her room in the night, risk waking her.’ She pulls lightly at the thick dark hairs on Peter’s arm. ‘The next morning, I just thought she was having a lie-in. You know what teenagers are like.’

Judith looks at Sam for confirmation and he gives a small nod.

‘So, I shouted for her a few times and in the end I knocked and went in. Saw that her bed hadn’t been slept in at all. And that’s when I called Margaret and Michael’s place. We started to ring round. I was worried.’

Sam feels his own heart start to thump at the thought, the exact moment when the panic would set in.

Judith swallows down some tears. ‘We never heard it ring. I just can’t get past that. I’ve stood and screamed at the phone as if it’s a person.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sam says.

‘They said, from the phone-box records, that she’d tried to call us… before she called for the taxi. But we didn’t hear it ring.’

Sam thinks of the reconstruction video. The aborted call.

‘She might have wanted picking up.’ Judith twists her hands. ‘Or maybe she would have told us who she was meeting. It kills me that I missed that conversation.’

He forces his next question out. ‘And at any point did you have a sense of where you thought Victoria might be?’

Judith takes a deep breath. ‘Honestly? I think I knew deep down as soon as I saw the empty bed.’

Peter shakes his head silently. Disagreeing with what Judith says or just reliving the pain, an awkward tic? Judith registers it but carries on anyway.

‘My gut feeling was I knew right away that something terrible had happened. Do you know what I mean?’

‘Did Victoria have any problems with anyone that you knew of?’ Sam tries to keep his voice light but Judith’s expression has already darkened.

‘What kind of problems do you mean? Is there something you’re getting at, Sam?’

‘No, nothing like that. I’m just trying to get a clear picture, that’s all. I’m coming to this fresh, remember. And that should be a good thing.’ Judith doesn’t say anything, so Sam pushes on. ‘A fresh pair of eyes can sometimes find a new way into things.’

Judith’s face is pinched, staring out at the garden through the rain spattered on the window.

‘You talked to Sylvie?’ Peter asks. ‘She’d be the best one to tell you what they really got up to. Teenage girls don’t tell their parents much – you’ll know that yourself, Sam.’

‘I’ve not been able to get hold of her yet, but I’ll keep trying.’

‘Huh,’ Peter scoffs. ‘Call yourself a reporter.’

‘I’ll talk to her,’ Judith says, robotic.

Peter moves suddenly, raising his voice. ‘Ah, just leave her be, will you, if she doesn’t want to do it.’

‘I think they always blamed us, you know,’ Judith says, towards the garden.

‘Judith… don’t.’ Peter’s voice has a warning tone and his grip on her arm has tightened but she snatches herself away.

‘What do you mean by that, Judith?’ Sam asks. He can feel Peter’s eyes boring into him, willing him to leave it. He pretends not to notice.

‘Michael’s death,’ Judith says, as if Sam should have somehow known that. ‘He died so soon after. Three weeks? They were prepared for months. I always wondered if the shock of Victoria’s death had made it worse. Margaret never said directly, of course, but I got that impression.’

Peter shakes his head.

Judith lightens her tone. ‘Who can blame her, though? She had such a tough time of it as well.’

‘Not exactly the same as losing your teenage daughter. Not the same as a murder really, though, is it?’

‘Peter! It’s not a competition,’ Judith says, pink embarrassment creeping up her face. She shakes her head and turns back to Sam.

‘So, let me ask you this,’ Sam says. ‘Do you have any theories about what happened to Victoria that night?’

Judith’s tissue goes up to her mouth, her eyes shining. ‘I honestly can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt her.’ She blots her eyes.

Peter says, ‘There are a lot of bad people in this town, Sam. Real wrong ‘uns. But the police, the folk round here, they’re not interested in unearthing it. They don’t want bad PR for the place. It’s bad for their stats, whatever. Laughable really, isn’t it? If it didn’t make you cry.’

This, he and Judith are agreed on, and she nods furiously next to him.

‘You know, there was that halfway house right at the bottom of the road,’ she says, pointing. ‘It’s still there – there are druggies, alcoholics, people just out of prison living there. The police went round a few times but nothing came of it. They should have looked harder. Of course, everyone’s moved on from there now so the chance is gone.’

‘Did you ever have any problems with people from this place?’ Sam asks. They’re called ‘Approved Premises’ now, he thinks, but it doesn’t seem like a good time to say so.

‘We didn’t have any problems as such, no, but I was always aware that they were there.’

‘I saw a few incidents,’ Peter says. ‘Couple of pissed blokes scrapping on the grass out front. Someone chucking clothes out of the window. Police car there a few times. They weren’t sitting about around the fire singing “Kumbaya” and toasting marshmallows, I can tell you that for nowt. Not like some people would have you think.’

Judith nods her head and she reminds Sam of a cartoon mouse.

‘Rehabilitation,’ Peter goes on, putting on a whiny voice and contorting his face into a grimace. ‘Do you know what galls me? What really gets me? We offered a reward at first. Not a lot, a few grand – much of which people donated. Police didn’t want to do it, to be honest. But we had to, didn’t we, love?’

Judith nods more vigorously.

‘What choice did we have? The police, they said it would bring too many crazies, false leads. They didn’t recommend it, they said. Didn’t want the admin, more like. That’s the impression I got anyways.’ His jaw clenches. ‘I pushed it. So, what really got me, what made me think I was done with this town is the amount of time wasters we did get. I didn’t expect it. And plenty of them were from that place down the road. For money? Don’t care how skint you are, you don’t do that. I just don’t relate to that mentality. At all.’

‘I don’t say these things shouldn’t exist,’ Judith says. ‘But… it was right across from the park, you know? There’s so many kids have always lived round here. It’s close to the school.’

Sam takes a deep breath, fills his lungs, then forces the question out. ‘Do you think they’ll ever find her killer?’

‘Isn’t that why you’re here?’ Peter says, a snide tone in his voice.

Judith digs her elbow into him with one small flick of her arm.

Peter looks squarely at Sam, then at the camera. ‘No,’ he says. ‘To be honest with you, I don’t. Too much time has passed. No one really cares any more. Everyone is wrapped up in work, going on holiday, buying a load of shit for Christmas. Most people don’t even know who she was. And they care even less.’

‘I probably shouldn’t say this, but sometimes… I wish they hadn’t found her,’ Judith says. ‘I’ve read about parents whose children are missing for a long time, never found, and they say they think a body might help. Give them closure. I understand where they’re coming from, I suppose, but it isn’t like that. It doesn’t help me. They still have that hope to cling to that their child might be out there somewhere. We don’t have that.’

Judith gets up out of the seat, lurching forwards. At first Sam thinks she might fall onto him, that she might be attacking him, but then she’s upright and she runs from the room.

‘Think that’s enough for one day, don’t you?’ Peter says. He picks up his jumper that’s been draped over the arm of the chair and he throws it over the camera as if it’s a budgie in a cage. ‘As long as you’ve got what you need for your film, and to get paid, eh?’

Peter gets up and walks out after Judith. Sam packs the camera away and goes out into the hall. There’s no one there, but he can hear Judith and Peter upstairs behind a closed door, their voices low.

As he lets himself out, the shock of the cold air is a relief when it hits him.