‘The voices in here had been quieted,’ she says with a sad laugh, tapping the side of her head. ‘And it was a good feeling, you know? Not having to think.’

I reach for her hand and hold it in mine.

‘Mum and Dad didn’t notice because they were both wrapped up in their own problems. I pretended I didn’t care, but it hurt,’ she says, her voice melting.

‘Oh, Bonnie,’ I say.

‘I think they expected me to disappoint them. I swear there was never anything wrong with me as a child, yet they insisted on taking me to those bloody Stay and Play sessions. Can you tell me why they thought I needed some shrink watching over me, and not Danny?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say softly. ‘I was too young.’

‘I was condemned from an early age.’

‘Bon, that’s not true. Mum and Dad loved you, you know they did.’

She laughs. ‘It was like they didn’t know what to do with me. They must have known something was wrong, but I honestly haven’t a clue what it was.’ She pulls herself straight and wipes a hand across her face. ‘Anyway, that’s why I had a drink today. Because I can’t deal with all the crap that’s being dragged up again. I made a choice long ago to blank it all out and now it’s resurfacing.’ She shuffles away until I have no choice but to pull my hand back. Taking a deep breath, she asks, ‘What did her mother tell you about Scarlet?’

‘Nothing,’ I admit. ‘Just her name. I met her in an area called Balsall Heath, though. How do I know that place?’

‘It’s where Gran worked,’ she says.

‘Was it?’ My grandmother was a social worker in the seventies, working with families who lived in slums. ‘Dad said something about Gran being the reason they went to the island. Do you know anything about that?’

Bonnie looks up, shaking her head.

‘He might have it wrong,’ I sigh.

‘You know, I read about a survey the other day,’ Bonnie says suddenly. ‘About mothers who admit to having favourites. Most commonly it’s their youngest.’ She looks at me expectantly. ‘And that if grandparents do, it’s typically the oldest. Do you think if Gran had still been around I’d have been hers?’ she says. ‘I doubt it.’

Choosing to ignore her, I say, ‘Did Iona ever mention anyone named Scarlet to you?’

Her eyes drop to my mouth and I can see there are thoughts racing through my sister’s head as she works out which ones to say aloud. Her fingers tap against her leg. ‘Please tell me,’ I plead. ‘Is that what you argued about? Because I don’t believe you can’t remember. Did she ever tell you who Scarlet was?’