Looking left, the living room door is wide open. Maddy peers into the gloom and almost gasps aloud when she sees Alison asleep on the sofa. The pram is next to her. She edges closer. It’s empty. For a few seconds, she waits to see if Alison moves, then creeps up the stairs, careful to miss the loose floorboard outside their bedroom. Jamie’s door is shut. She waits a few moments, listening for any sound. Alison’s bedroom door is open. The frilly edged crib is next to the bed. The smell of baby lotion is welcoming and excitement rises in her. She picks up a travel bag from under the bed and slides open a couple of drawers, rummaging through them. She takes nappies and Babygros and stuffs them into the bag.

‘There you are, my darling boy,’ she whispers, ‘come to Mummy.’ The baby doesn’t murmur as she lifts him into a snow-white blanket. She kisses his nose and her elbow clips the Disney character mobile. It lets out a couple of heart-stopping notes as it casts its dancing shadow on the wall. She freezes, straining to hear for any movement from Jamie in his bedroom next door or Alison downstairs. With her arms around the precious bundle, she grabs the bag and smiles at her mother in the mirror, then she tiptoes downstairs as quickly as she can. She pulls the front door closed behind her, still on the latch because she is certain to click it shut will wake even the deepest sleeper.

In the car, she straps the baby into the rear-facing car seat next to her. A thousand fireworks explode in her heart as she turns the wheel and glances in the mirror.

‘Look at my beautiful baby, Mum,’ she says as she slowly drives away.

Chapter Sixty-One

Alison: December 2019

A cold draught wakes Alison. She shivers and realises she’s only covered by her cardigan. The black window tells her it is still night-time. She stretches over and concentrates on the digits on her mobile: 5.10 a.m. Charlie should have woken her an hour ago for a feed, but his bottle of milk is on the floor. She swings her legs off the sofa and picks it up. There’s an ounce in it. She frowns, trying to remember. The front door blows open in a clap of wind, as though someone is forcing their way in. She jumps up, her heart racing. In the darkness, branches are creaking and the rustling leaves sound like waves crashing towards her. A glass milk bottle on the doorstep opposite falls over and rattles down the drive. Why is the door on the latch? She didn’t leave it like that, did she? She clicks it shut and climbs the stairs. Her pulse is beating too fast. The house is too quiet.