Jenny watched a young mum and a little girl do cartwheels on the grass, and tried to remember Hannah at that age, so bendy and fearless.

‘Your husband is a talented painter,’ she said.

Orla laughed. ‘Goodbye.’

The line went dead.

Jenny sucked her teeth then put her phone away and settled in for the wait.

It only took fifteen minutes.

A small white van pulled up outside and Jenny shrank into her seat as a short stocky guy with a shaved head got out and went up the path to Orla’s house. Orla answered in five seconds, ushering him inside. She looked worried, and the way she touched his arm and chest gave everything away. Some people are idiots.

Jenny saw Orla and the guy come into the front room, at first having a disagreement then after a couple of minutes touching and kissing. They headed out of the room, presumably upstairs.

Jenny got out and crossed the road to the guy’s van. She took a 236photo of the number plate, there had to be a way to trace that. She looked into the front of the van, saw a bunch of flyers for Karl Zukas, Landscape Gardener, with a number and email. She took a picture of that too. Inside the van was a mess, Maccy D wrappers and cups, empty Irn Bru bottles, KFC boxes. She saw through to the back of the van, lots of gardening tools, compost bags, turf rolls.

She went back to her own van, got in and waited. Looked up Karl Zukas online. He had a good rating on Trusted Traders, plenty of satisfied customers, mostly women. Orla was trading Liam in for this?

Another fifteen minutes and the front door opened. Jenny zoomed her phone in, took a ton of pictures then some video as Orla and Karl stood like love-struck kids in the doorway, touching each other, kissing long and hard. Eventually Karl pulled himself away and Orla went back inside, smiling like her world wasn’t about to come crashing down.

237

46

HANNAH

She pushed herself, trying to beat her best five K, legs pounding and aching, breath ragged, face flushed. It didn’t help that the Meadows were hoaching, unseasonal sunshine bringing everyone out to enjoy the last throes of summer.

She overtook two middle-aged men jogging at half her speed, and thought about Peter. He killed himself out of guilt over what he did to Mel, so fuck him. She understood Emilia being upset, but what about Mel and her family? It wasn’t Hannah’s fault, all she did was find the photographs, uncover the truth. If she hadn’t pursued it Peter would still be alive, but only because he hadn’t been caught. She refused to take the blame.