Abigail, darling.” Abigail opened her eyes to find her father sitting beside her on the bed. An alarm went off in her brain. Something’s wrong. Grahame had called her darling. His eyes were bloodshot. He had his hand on her arm. It was shaking. “What is it?” Abigail sat up. She glimpsed Melanie standing at the door, her eyes also moist and red. The curtains were half open. The sun was quite high in the sky. “Something … terrible …” Grahame choked on the words. He blew his nose on a large tartan handkerchief. Her heart started thumping. “Tell me.” “Becky.” Without waiting for more, Abigail jumped out of bed and ran across the hall. The bedroom door was open. Two police officers—one male, one female—were hunched over something next to the bed. Abigail pushed her way in between them. Her breath caught. That something was Becky: lying on the floor, dried white froth at the corners of her mouth, vomit on the carpet, eyes open. Abigail’s knees seemed to give out.
