‘And my wretched super-recogniser thing comes into it.’

Gilly looked up, anxiety making her frown. ‘Did you see him on a rerun of Crimewatch?’

Helena found herself laughing, not sure if her mother had been deliberately funny or was just being naïve. ‘I wish! No, I found him on Facebook.’

‘And that’s bad?’

‘Yes – when he’s got a completely different name! He’s not who he says he is, Mum. He’s a different person with a different name.’

‘People are allowed to change their names if they want to,’ said Gilly.

‘Yes, and he had good reason, but I feel like he’s lied to me!’ She had been going to give Gilly a carefully edited version of what she’d discovered but found herself wanting to tell her mother everything. ‘His real name is Jonathan Relto and his uncle owned the company that was responsible for all those people nearly dying in that fire. Do you remember? All those firefighters got awards for bravery, rescuing them. Let me show you.’

Soon they were both peering at the screen of Gilly’s computer. ‘It does look bad, I know,’ said Gilly, ‘but my instinct tells me he’s a good man.’

‘You thought he was gay!’

‘I rest my case,’ said Gilly primly and then laughed. ‘I know it must be a horrible shock for you and you’re quite right to try to find out the facts as soon as you can, but I’m putting my money on Jago being one of the good guys.’

‘Oh God, I hope you’re right, Mum!’

Helena didn’t go back to Jago’s house that night. She stayed with her mother and allowed herself to be mothered. Comfort food, wine, a bath, girly telly. It didn’t cure her from doubt and a sense of being enormously let down, but it did cushion her from it a little.

And in the morning, although she should have gone to her own home to pack a case, she preferred to manage with some clothes she’d left at Fairacres for years and things she could borrow from her mother. This included a slightly moth-eaten cashmere cardigan, a long cotton nightie (which she’d borrowed the night before) and a few pairs of her mother’s knickers (which was a bit weird). Gilly had provided a new toothbrush and a small pot of moisturiser along with a new mascara and a stub of a kohl pencil. It was pouring with rain.

‘Well, the saying is, rain before seven, fine before eleven,’ said Gilly as she and Helena looked at the rain-drenched sky.

‘It’s half past seven, Mum, and I do hope to get there before eleven.’

‘I meant it will be nice when you get there.’

Gilly sounded feeble, and Helena knew she was struggling to be optimistic.

‘It’ll be fine,’ said Helena and made a dash for the car.