“You are quite right,” she agreed, angry with herself because her voice trembled. “But I still feel that I need to know how she left the clinic, and who helped her. You understand?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers, still full of fear. If she wavered even slightly, all his doubts would storm back, drowning his courage.

“D’yer reckon as someone took ’er?” he asked.

“No, I think they more likely tricked her, told her she’d be safe, or told her a lie of some sort. I want to know who, because I mustn’t ever trust that person again.” Did that sound too extreme? As if she never forgave a mistake? Would she make him fear that if he made a mistake he would forfeit love forever? “If they did it on purpose, I mean,” she added.

“ ’Ow’d they kill ’er?” he whispered. “Like Mickey Parfitt?”

“Yes, exactly like that. I expect she didn’t even know what happened.”

“Were it the same person wot done ’im?”

“Yes, I expect it was. She was found in the water, as he was, and pretty close to the same place.”

“In’t Mr. Ballinger in jail?” He pulled the bedclothes a little tighter round his body.

“He is now, but he wasn’t when she was killed. But neither was Rupert Cardew.”

His eyes opened wider. “Yer think as ’e done ’er?”

“No, I don’t. But they might try to make it look that way, to get Mr. Ballinger off.”

“Yer like Mr. Cardew, don’t yer?”

“Yes. But that doesn’t have anything to do with it. At least, it shouldn’t.”

He looked puzzled. “You wouldn’t like ’im anymore if ’e done it?”

His hand was still lying on top of hers, as if he had forgotten it. She was careful not to move. “I might still like him. You don’t stop liking people, or even loving them, because they’ve done something horrible. I suppose first you try to understand why. And it makes a difference if they’re sorry—really sorry. But it doesn’t mean they don’t have to pay for it, or put as much of it right as they can. You have to have right and wrong the same for everybody, or it isn’t fair.”

He nodded. “So wot are we gonna do?”

“Find out what happened.”

“Termorrer?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I woke you up to tell you, but there might not be time in the morning … and …”

He waited, eyes shadowed.

“I just wanted to tell you now.”

His mouth tightened. “You thought I were gonna cry.” He was on the very edge of it, and angry with himself.

“No,” she told him. “I thought I was. I still might!”

He smiled at her widely, as if it were funny, and two large tears spilled over and rolled down his cheeks.