They both fall silent. It is her who speaks first. ‘Anyway, she’d be good at the practice. Answering the phone. It’s not exactly life and death, is it? Not too much responsibility?’

Aidan is confused for a moment. ‘My practice?’

‘Yes. Donna doesn’t come in every day now, does she?’ Since Donna had become a grandmother she’d drastically reduced her hours and once her daughter returned to work following her maternity leave she’d offered to look after the baby full-time. ‘You can’t do everything alone, Aidan. Immunization reminders. Ordering stock. Invoicing. It’s no wonder you’re tired. You need somebody full-time again. Agnes can manage your diary and—’

‘No,’ he says bluntly. ‘I mean. I’m not sure right now what we’ll do to replace Donna and—’

‘I know you’re fond of her and she’s been with you since the beginning but you will need someone.’

We all need someone.

‘Let me have a think.’ He pulls her to him and kisses the top of her head. A traitor’s kiss. He knows he can’t let Agnes near the practice. He can’t let anybody into his life right now.

He can’t risk anyone finding out the truth.

The less people close to him, keeping track, the better.

Somebody’s going to get hurt.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Lucy

Ten days until Connor is taken

In the early hours, I watch Kieron sleep. It’s impossible to stop my mind hopping from one black thought to another. The walls of the ward begin to close in on me. My breath coming in short, painful gasps. I stumble outside and sit on a hard wooden bench at the hospital entrance. The rising sun shimmers, painting the sky with streaks of salmon and orange. The world is so beautiful; I am floored by an overwhelming sadness. I so desperately want Kieron to be around to see it in ten years.

Twenty.

Thirty.

An ambulance speeds into a parking bay, blue lights flashing. The paramedics yank open the doors and lift out an unconscious man on a stretcher, before a woman weeping into a tissue steps out of the back of the van. I turn away from the rawness of her pain and scurry back inside.

Kieron is still dozing. Sandra, a nurse I know well, brings me a coffee, strong and black. The heat coming through the polystyrene cup burns my fingers. I blow away the curling steam before taking a sip, feeling the scald on my tongue.

‘No point suggesting that you go home and rest, is there?’ Sandra keeps her voice low.

‘I’m okay. I slept.’

She raises her eyebrows; we both know I’d risen frequently to watch the nurses carrying out their observations. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust them but ultimately no one is as invested in Kieron’s health and wellbeing as me. Not even the professionals.