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‘Where’s Peter?’ Rose asked.

Chloe rolled her eyes. It was the fifth time in less than two minutes that her gran had asked that question. She waited for the question that she knew would come next, after she’d told her that her husband had died decades ago. She wished Katie would hurry up and come back from the supermarket. Chloe had to get to the pub for her evening shift. Her sister knew that, but was probably browsing the clothing section at Dunnes Stores before she even bought the groceries.

‘Where’s Lottie?’ Rose added.

After answering by rote for so long, Chloe felt her words were stuck at the back of her throat, and frustration and annoyance bubbled. It wasn’t her gran’s fault. Dementia was a cruel disease. Her poor gran was stuck in a loop of forgetfulness, even though she did experience small windows of clarity. At times she became more frustrated than Chloe.

Taking a deep breath before she replied, she spied her gran’s knitting basket in the corner. Distraction might work. ‘Gran, you told me you’d show me how to knit.’

‘Not now. Later.’

‘I’d really like to learn. Come on, it will pass the time.’ She gathered up the basket and extracted the wool and needles. The scarf they’d been working on yesterday – not that Rose remembered it – looked like moths had got to it, such was the number of holes in it.

‘What is that?’

‘A scarf.’

‘Looks too narrow. And there’s a dropped stitch.’

More than one, Chloe thought. ‘Will you fix it, Gran? I don’t know how to do it.’

‘You youngsters are all the same. Give it here.’

Chloe gratefully handed over the knitting and made to escape the room.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To put the kettle on.’

‘I’d love a cup of tea. Don’t know when I last had one.’

‘Five minutes ago,’ Chloe whispered. Aloud she said, ‘I’ll make one for you.’

‘Don’t leave me on my own.’

‘I’m in the next room.’

‘Leave the door open so I can hear you.’

‘Will do.’

‘Where’s Peter?’

Chloe kept going. She could manage a few hours with her gran, of course she could, now that she knew she had something exciting to look forward to.

She took the letter out of her jeans pocket. She had got it by email, but they’d posted it too, which saved her having to print it off. This was something she’d been wishing for. Something she wanted to do. But the idea of having to tell her mother was a whole lot worse than spending another hour listening to her gran’s repetition.

She had no idea how Lottie would react to her news. But she knew it would not be good. There was a time she’d have asked her gran to put in a word for her. That was no longer an option. Or was it?

How could she go about planting a seed in Rose’s mind? One that would take root and not wither before it was allowed to grow. Put your thinking cap on, Chloe Parker. Listen to your gut. Her mother was always harping on about that. Maybe she should try to use her initiative. God knows she’d need it where she was headed. If her mother let her. Well, tough. She was old enough to map out her own life, and no one was going to stop her.

Kirby had just returned to the office after speaking with the owner of the Happy Hair salon following her return from holiday. Martina had told him he needed to talk to her himself as she had some interesting things to say. It had been an informative meeting and he was about to update the team when McKeown shouted out.

‘Got him.’

‘Got who?’ Kirby asked, looking over his shoulder at the screen shot of a CCTV still.

‘Robert Hayes’s car has been located in the car park at the train station?—’