‘That comes out of my disability allowance, so it’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘And petrol comes out of my wages, so ditto.’

‘You’d best be back before twelve,’ Marie called after him when he walked out into the hall. ‘You’re taking me shopping, don’t forget.’

‘Drive yourself,’ Evan called back. ‘Or, better still, try walking and shift some of that fat off your arse!’

He stalked out at that, and jumped into the Land Rover he’d borrowed from work while his own car was in the garage.

Marie came out onto the step as he fired the engine, and yelled, ‘You’d best come back to help me with the shopping, or don’t bother coming back at all! I’m not joking, Evan . . . I’m doing this for your dad as well as my—’

Evan turned the radio up full-blast to tune her out, and reversed out of the driveway. Glancing in the rear-view mirror before turning the corner, he released a heavy sigh when he saw Marie, shoulders slumped, making her way back into the house. He shouldn’t have chucked her weight in her face like that, and he’d had no right to get angry with her when he was the one who’d lied. She had her faults, but so did he, and he’d put things right when he got home. Hell, he’d even clean the house after they’d been shopping if it meant that much to her. But, right now, he needed a drink and some time alone to cool his hot head down.

10

Yvonne’s cottage was half a mile from the farm, and Frank would ordinarily have walked it in ten minutes flat. But, today, with the snow and ice turning the lane into a skating rink, it took him twice as long, and his thighs were aching by the time he got there.

Yvonne’s rusted old Fiat was parked on the drive, so he figured she must be home. But after knocking several times and getting no answer, he began to wonder if Jo might have been right to be concerned about her.

He made his way down the side of the cottage to try the back door, and was alarmed to find it standing ajar, its lock shattered, the wood splintered. Cautiously stepping inside, aware that the intruder might still be in there, he called Yvonne’s name as he scanned the gloomy kitchen.

A faint groan came from the other side of the table, and his heart lurched when he saw Yvonne lying on the floor. He rushed over and squatted down beside her.

‘Yvonne, it’s Frank . . . are you OK?’

Her eyes fluttered open and she squinted at him for a few seconds before recognition set in.

‘Oh, thank God it’s you,’ she croaked, her voice as dry as sandpaper. ‘I thought I was never going to be found.’