David punched his fist into the kitchen counter. Iona hadn’t turned up for the eight o’clock ferry that morning. He supposed there should be a part of him that shouldn’t be surprised, but Maria had been convinced she would show. He’d even heard Iona regurgitating the lie about her sick aunt to Bonnie. ‘Have you seen her?’ he demanded.

Maria shook her head. ‘What about Bonnie? She was supposed to say goodbye.’

‘No.’ Bonnie was still upstairs in bed. He’d looked in on her only moments ago. ‘What if something’s already happened to Iona?’ he hissed. Maria had barely spoken to him all night, barely looked at him. He knew he’d done wrong. He shouldn’t have admitted the truth to the young girl, but she’d opened up her heart and he couldn’t bear to see her pain. Not when he felt partly responsible.

Besides, Iona already knew what they had done seventeen years ago. He’d seen it in her eyes. She might have come for the wrong child, but Iona was clever, she’d worked it out. David shook his head as he stared at his wife. She looked like a stranger to him that morning.

He sighed deeply. The truth was he could tell himself it was Iona who brought the confession out of him, but deep down he’d been waiting to unbridle his guilt since the moment they’d made that terrible decision all those years ago. He’d lived with the burden for years, and many times he’d considered whether there’d be relief when he finally was honest. He’d convinced himself there would be. That maybe then he’d feel like he’d paid for what they’d done and the heavy weight of culpability would be lifted. Iona had pressed a button inside him and he’d wanted to be liberated.

Only he didn’t feel relieved. It hadn’t actually surfaced.

‘Is she all you’re worried about?’ Maria was crying, having turned to glare at him. ‘What about us?’ She slapped a hand hard against her chest.

‘You know she’s not all I’m worried about,’ he replied, as calmly as he could. ‘But we do have to find her.’

‘You mean I have to find her,’ his wife snapped, picking up her house keys, tossing them in her bag.

By midday Maria had found no sign of her.

Every time she returned to the house she would check in on all the children, who thankfully seemed blissfully unaware their family was hanging by a precariously thin thread. Bonnie was in her room, refusing to come out. Danny was in the treehouse and Stella was reading at the bottom of the garden.