(A coffee machine hisses and whirrs in the background. There is a radio playing bouncy bubble-gum pop songs. A female voice can be heard singing along softly.)

(There is the sound of cups being put onto a table. A man with a Belfast accent thanks the waitress. A spoon clunks against the side of the cup.)

Saskia: Thank you for agreeing to meet with me today, Mr. McIntyre. I really appreciate your time.

Seb: (sighs, his voice is kept low throughout the exchange): Okay, but we need to make this quick. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be talking to you about this.

Saskia: May I ask why? You reached out to me, remember?

Seb: Oh, I know that. Regretting it now, I've got to say.

Saskia: Then why still agree to meet me? Why not cancel and forget all about it?

Seb: Because... because I can't forget, that's why. Believe me, I've bloody tried. Amelia Austen's case isn't something you can forget easily, despite what it looks from the outside. People might not talk about it, but trust me, they don't forget. And besides, someone's got to do something before you get yourself into a whole heap of trouble.

Saskia: I don't understand...

Seb: This isn't going on that podcast of yours, right? We had an agreement. This can't be uploaded online, no one can know I was talking to you.

Saskia: Of course. The last thing I want to do is compromise your position with the Brighton and Hove Independent. 

Seb: It's not my position I'm worried about. Trust me, I've been here before. And now you're right where I was a year ago. Digging into stuff that is best left dead and buried.

Saskia: If you don't mind me saying, that seems a strange thing for a journalist to say? Isn't that what you're meant to do? Dig deep enough to discover the truth?

Seb: Well, that all depends on what you find, doesn't it?

Saskia: And what did you find, Mr. McIntyre?

Seb: Enough to make the wrong people look in my direction. Enough to stop.

Saskia: No offence but that all sounds a little bit like a tired old film script.

Seb: (his tone angry) You know something, I think I made a big mistake meeting you today, Miss Jones. I can see you're not willing to take this seriously... but if you want my advice, you'll wake up and see what you're getting yourself into here. This isn't a game. This isn't about how many bloody followers you'll get from your podcast. If you're looking to get famous off the back of this, you might find you'll end up famous for all the wrong reasons.

(A chair scrapes against the floor.)

Seb: I'd wish you good luck but all the luck in the world isn't going to help if you pursue this.

Saskia: Mr. McIntyre, please! Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, really I didn't... I really want to hear what you have to say! Please.

(Seb doesn't respond instantly, but after a few seconds we hear the chair scraping against the floor again.)

Saskia: (softer) Thank you. And I am sorry. I am taking this seriously. I promise you; this isn't a joke to me. This isn't about me at all. It's about her. Amelia. You were right in what you said. This isn't something I can forget. And... I know this is going to sound weird, but I think someone out there wants people to know what happened. Someone wants people to know the truth.

Seb: Oh, right yeah. The mysterious email from Amelia herself.

Saskia: You don't think it was from her.

Seb: Amelia's gone, Miss Jones. Whoever sent you that email, it wasn't her.

Saskia: Then who do you think might have sent it? You're familiar with the case. Do you have any ideas who might want to dredge it all back up again?

Seb: I don't know. Maybe the same person who tipped me off in the first place.

Saskia: Is that how you came to be involved? A tip-off? You must get a lot of those being a journalist. Everyone's got a story to tell. What made you want to follow this story specifically?

Seb: I've come across all sorts of crazy, screwed up stories in my line of work. Bad ones. Deaths. Murders. You name it. But this one... well, this one was different. Right from the start it was different.

Saskia: How so?

Seb: Look, I expected it to be like any other run-of-the-mill disappearance, okay? And I'm not saying people disappearing isn't always a tragedy for someone, of course it is. Sometimes there's something sinister behind it, you know, a murder or whatever. Sometimes it's just a case of someone running away and either they turn up again or they don't. It's sad, I know, but for me, these stories come up every so often and then they get taken over by the next local carnival or a spate of burglaries or car thefts, you know.

Saskia: Today's news is tomorrow's fish and chip paper?

Seb: Exactly. Sorry, sounds harsh, I know. Just the way it is.

Saskia: So, can you tell me what was different about Amelia's case? Some would say that she was just another missing girl. Another statistic.

Seb: Yeah, and if you don't know some of the details of the case, which most don't because they weren't reported, then that's exactly what she is. She's reduced to a number. Nothing more.

Saskia: If you don't mind me saying, you're a reporter. You reported on this case. Are you telling me that you omitted certain details that, if people had known, they might have looked at Amelia's case in a different way?

Seb: (laughs coldly) Sure. Blame the reporter.

Saskia: Sorry, I'm not...

Seb: (softer): It's okay, I know. I'm just being a prickly ol' Irish bastard. (sighs) Sometimes – just sometimes – when you're a reporter, you can't report everything, okay?

Saskia: Do you mean certain aspects that the police might ask you to omit just in case it jeopardises the investigation?

(Seb doesn't instantly respond. He taps the spoon lightly against the side of the coffee cup three times.)

Seb: What I'm saying, Miss Jones, is that sometimes you're asked politely to keep certain things to yourself. Do you understand what I mean by that?

Saskia: Yeah... I think I understand. How did you come to learn of Amelia's disappearance? From what I recall and after looking into it, there wasn't any national press conference. The family never made an appeal for her. There were some missing person posters around town and just word-of-mouth stuff to start with, but that was it.

Seb: (inhales sharply and blows) Shite, this coffee's still as hot as Hell! Sorry. Um, yeah, you're right. There was none of that stuff. No big show for the cameras. No in-your-face campaign. It was quiet. Too quiet. That's how I came to find out.

Saskia: How do you mean?

Seb: A girl goes missing and she's not just any girl, right? She's only the bloody daughter of our very own Detective Inspector Austen. You'd expect a bit of a furore, yeah? People go missing every day. That's the reality. They slip through the cracks because they're nobody important and nobody really cares, but we were talking about the daughter of a high-ranking officer. Those are the people who make the news, yeah? We all know that. White, middle-class, well-respected family headed up by a copper, no less. That's got to be news. But it was like... (he whistles) ...bloody tumbleweed, I can tell you. It was too hush-hush. Something wasn't right there. And somebody else thought that before I even knew about it. That's how I found out. Got a tip-off.

Saskia: From within the police force? Are you saying your tip-off came from a police officer?

Seb: Miss Jones, I'm not about to reveal any of my sources here, that's for sure. Let's just say that someone saw it for what it was.

Saskia: A cover-up?

Seb: A story that didn't deserve to become tomorrow's fish and chip paper.

Saskia: But isn't that what it became? Literally because no one was really talking about it.

Seb: I guess you could say that, but it wasn't for the want of trying on my part. I wanted to run the story. I had it all ready to go, but I couldn't get a pass on it. In the end, I was told to drop it and focus on more relevant articles.

Saskia: (gasps) What's more relevant than the disappearance of a young girl?

Seb: (taps the spoon three times against the cup) Like I said. Carnivals, car thefts, burglaries.

Saskia: And did you? Did you drop it?

Seb: After a while.... Yes.

Saskia: Okay, so what was the story?

(There's the sound of plates smashing and raised voices. The audio breaks for a couple of seconds.)

Seb: ...things the family didn't want people to know. About Amelia. About how they treated her.

Saskia: What things?

(Seb doesn't respond but taps his spoon against the cup again.)

Saskia: What things, Mr. McIntyre?

Seb: (he is almost whispering now, his voice crackles as if emotion is getting the better of him) She was suffering, you know. That's the tragedy here. That poor girl was out of her mind with fear, and no one would help her. No one would believe her. All they wanted to do was silence her. Keep her quiet.

Saskia: Do you know what Amelia was so scared of?

(The audio cuts out again. A strange hissing noise fills the silence.)

Seb: Yes. As do you.

Saskia: How do you know that?

Seb: Well, if it wasn't for the fact that I already know you've seen the photo, I can tell from your eyes.

Saskia: (laughs nervously) What does that mean?

Seb: You have that look about you, Miss Jones. Everyone who's seen that damn photo and knows what Amelia was really scared of has the very same look.

Saskia: What look?

Seb: Haunted. Like you're haunted by it. Just like she was. Which is why you need to let this go.

Saskia: Have you seen the photo?

Seb: Why the Hell do you think I'm here? Listen up, Miss Jones. You might think you've scooped the story of the century here, just like I did. And yeah, you might be genuine about not wanting to use Amelia to boost up your social media following. You might genuinely think you're doing good by digging into this but trust me, you need to stop. Now. Before...

Saskia: Before what? Before what, Mr. McIntyre?

Seb: Before things go too far. You don't want that, trust me. You don't want to be where Amelia was.

Saskia: And where was that exactly?

Seb: Alone.

(He sniffs and then sips at his coffee. The cup rattles in the saucer as he puts it down.)

Seb: It's one thing to be alone in this world, but to be alone, knowing what she knew? That's some special kind of Hell, let me tell you.

Saskia: You know, you almost sound like you believe it?

Seb: (sharply) And you don't?

Saskia: I... I don't know what to believe. I mean, it's... crazy. I don't know.

Seb: You know what I think, Miss Jones? I think you do believe it. Even if there's a big part of you that wants to be like the rest of them. You want to think she was a crank. A young girl who belonged in a place like Collindale. I understand. It's easier to think like that. Makes you sleep a little more soundly at night in that nice place of yours, no doubt furnished from all your advertisement earnings or however it is you so-called influencers make a living – not through hard bloody graft like the rest of us, that's for sure. But I think you do believe it. Like I said. I see it. It's there in your eyes. Like you're just waiting. Wondering if it's there. I see it in the way you can't keep your hands from twisting up that napkin. I see it in the way you keep glancing back as if you think someone is behind you.

Saskia: That's not what I'm doing...

Seb: Sure, it's not. Like I said, I've been where you are now.

(In the background, the radio crackles with static as if it's lost the frequency. Sound bristles through the speaker, growing louder. A baby cries out, it's scream high and shrill. Soon, the music resumes and the baby calms down.)

Seb: Drop this, Miss Jones. Before you're made to drop it. Now I'm sorry, but I really do need to go.

(He stands and the chair scrapes against the floor again.)

Saskia: Mr. McIntyre? Just one more thing... when I asked you if you dropped the story when you were told to, you said, after a while. Does that mean you kept on looking into it yourself?

Seb: (pauses) Yeah. Yeah, I did.

Saskia: So, if it wasn't the newspaper or the police that made you stop eventually, why did you?

Seb: I decided I didn't want to know what was behind me. Goodbye, Miss Jones.

(Audio ends).