‘That was yesterday.’ Jamie is crying now. She takes his hand and kisses it, leading him into the kitchen.

‘Poppy, Poppy! He’ll have got himself stuck in a room somewhere.’ She takes a tin of dog food and taps a spoon against it. But all the doors are open. Nevertheless, they search every room. There is no sign of him anywhere.

‘Who let him out? Where has he gone?’ Jamie’s nose is running alongside his tears. Darkness has fallen quickly by the time they go back outside.

‘I remember bolting it. Someone has opened it.’ She stands in the middle of the garden, hands on hips, while Jamie checks behind the shed. What if it’s not Adam? He adored that bloody dog. Been a wedge between them from the start; she’d have much preferred a cat, but still. She calls all the local vets and RSPCA, but no one has handed Poppy in.

‘Can I make some posters to put up around the village?’ Jamie asks.

‘If you want to, but let’s have a drive around first, we might still find him.’

‘Can we?’ His eyes brighten.

‘After we’ve changed out of these damp clothes.’

Upstairs, she takes out a clean sweatshirt and jeans. She opens her lingerie drawer and gasps at a pair of tatty grey knickers – size 16 – and a huge black bra with holes in the lace. She swallows a sour taste in her mouth and drops garment after garment on the floor until the drawer is empty – none of them are hers.

She opens the deep drawer underneath and a swarm of moths flies into her face. She screams and tries to cover her eyes and her head, but they keep coming at her as though she is a beacon, fluttering around and crashing into her. Jamie runs in, straight over to the windows and pushes them open.

She drops down on the bed and draws in a breath as another sharp contraction bolts through her. Less than a minute later another comes, then another even stronger than the last with barely a pause in between. Are you okay, little one? She whimpers, cradling her bump.

‘What’s happening, Mum?’ Jamie rocks from one foot to the other.

‘Call a taxi! The baby is on its way.’

Chapter Fifty-Four

Max: May 2019

Ali was standing on the doorstep when Max pulled up in his van. She was wearing a pair of mules and a short pinafore dress, flexing her feet up and down on the step. He chucked his cigarette packet in the glove box and went round the back to unload the sacks of bark.

‘Do that in a minute,’ she called, click clacking towards him on the tiny pair of heels. Her hips swayed in a way most women had to learn. He smiled at her, expecting a hug, but she stood in front of him, clasping and unclasping her hands. She couldn’t stand still.