‘I know, my love, only …’ He hesitates before adding, in no more than a whisper, ‘I always thought he had …’ I hear the pain in Dad’s words as they trail off. ‘Your mum was adamant it was her, but I never believed her. I thought she was protecting him.’

‘You really thought Danny was capable?’ I ask.

‘No, no, it wasn’t like that. I knew it was an accident, I knew he wouldn’t have meant to hurt her. You know Danny,’ he cries. ‘He never hurt anything.’

‘So you and Mum never talked about what actually happened? You never knew for sure?’

‘I thought she was trying to shelter him. But clearly I was wrong,’ he says, as if pulling himself together. ‘So do the police know it was your mother now?’

‘It wasn’t Mum,’ I say. ‘It was Annie.’

‘Annie?’ he roars as I pull the phone away from my ear. ‘Annie?’

Olivia fusses in the background, asking him what’s wrong, demanding he pass the phone to her, but still clutching it he shouts, ‘Leave me alone. Just piss off.’

I reel back. It is the first time I’ve heard Dad raise his voice, let alone swear.

He clears his throat and when he still doesn’t speak I ask him if he’s alright.

‘Yes,’ he says finally. ‘I’m alright. But Annie Webb,’ he growls. ‘She killed Iona? She made us all believe it was Danny?’

‘I know this is a lot to take in, but there’s more I need to talk to you about. Can you move somewhere you can’t be heard?’

‘Olivia’s in the kitchen.’

‘Okay.’ I hold a breath, releasing it slowly. He must be able to hear my nerves. ‘It’s about Bonnie,’ I say, squeezing the words past the tightness of my throat. ‘I know what you and Mum did.’

Questions are freefalling. I’m ready to stop on the one that seems most appropriate. What the hell were you thinking? What gave you the right to lie to us all our lives? Did you never consider what you’d done was wrong?

In the end I say, ‘Annie knew Mum had told Iona what you’d done. I think that was why she was angry enough to let her think it was her fault.’

‘Oh no, Stella,’ Dad groans. ‘Oh dear God, no.’ He starts to cry. I picture him curled into a ball, clutching the phone tightly against his ear. It’s a pitiful thought, yet for once I feel no sympathy for him.

Isn’t it too late to break down now, Dad? Forty years on. It doesn’t escape my notice how lucid he is. It’s like taking him back to such a significant moment has anchored him in a way nothing has for a long time.

‘We should never have done it,’ he sobs. ‘We should never have done what we did.’