‘No point in asking directions into town; we’ll just follow everyone else,’ she said, falsely cheerful. ‘We’ll have to find somewhere to spend the night, and then tomorrow we can start asking questions. I’m sure the local people will know everybody who lives in the area, and I don’t imagine Griffiths is a common name.’

Mo said nothing, and even in the dusk which was beginning to fall Glenys could see that the child looked tired and worried. And why not, Glenys asked herself as they crossed the road over the railway line. They seemed a long way from home, and suddenly she began to wonder whether this whole expedition was not just a huge waste of time. After all, there had been a family rift; Grace and her new husband had gone their own way and lost touch with her parents completely, it seemed. Even if they managed to find the Griffiths – and it was a big if – then they might be told that it was the duty of the children’s father, not their mother’s family, to take care of them. Of course they could explain that the children were in fear of Cyril Huxtable and tell the whole frightening story, but that did not mean they would be believed. In fact, weighed down with both responsibility and her haversack, she began to wish she had never agreed to try to help Mo and Jimmy.

What was more, she acknowledged now, the reason she had thrown herself into the children’s search was that ever since discovering that she herself was Welsh she had longed to find her own family. But without any sort of clue as to her mother’s identity, apart from a first name which for all Glenys knew could be shared by half the young women in Wales, how could she possibly hope to trace the poor girl who, twenty-six years previously, had been forced to abandon her baby on someone else’s doorstep? Yet she had heard of others, abandoned at birth, who had managed to trace their parents; why should she not be equally fortunate? Indeed, in her heart she had hoped that when they discovered the children’s relatives, the Griffiths might, in gratitude, agree to try to help in her own search. So I’m not just doing this for the sake of Jimmy and Mo, if I’m honest, but for my own sake too.

Nevertheless, Glenys told herself, as a gentle rain began to fall, I’ve been a complete fool. I have little money and I’ve saddled myself with two children who have no money at all. Perhaps I should have encouraged them to go to the police after all, but oh no, I couldn’t just do that. I had to say I’d look after them, see that Cyril Huxtable didn’t touch them. Whatever was I thinking of? He’s a big hefty man with three times my strength, and I dare say if he got really nasty he’d be prepared to attack all three of us. And what do I do to protect them? I bring them to a foreign country and intend to set them down amongst people who may prove to speak scarcely a word of English. We should have started our search in Liverpool – there are heaps of Welsh people there. Why didn’t I think of that? But I’m Miss Awfully Clever Glenys Trent, who never takes advice or asks for suggestions, but goes her own way. And now I’m stranded in a town of which I know nothing with two frightened children who turn white at the mere mention of the name Huxtable. And what I aim to do with them in a strange town as it grows darker and darker and the street lamps wink on, I have no idea whatsoever.