Maddy pulls the next one out: more magazines. She empties every single file onto the floor until the shelf is empty.

‘Bloody hell,’ Sarah says.

Not one piece of paper to prove that he was in business. Not even the agreement he showed her. Where the hell is it?

Back inside, Maddy sits at the table, her face in her hands.

‘Oh God, come here.’ Sarah reaches her arms around her.

‘Why has he been lying to me and what’s he done with my money?’

‘Could he have put them somewhere else? Perhaps he moved them and forgot to tell you.’

‘I don’t know where. Perhaps John’s telling the truth.’ All she needs to know right now is what is going on. She rubs her bump. How can any of this be happening to their little family when she so desperately needs to speak to Max?

Chapter Eight

When Sarah has gone, Maddy marches into the garden. The dogs are tucking into the newly fallen apples. The gusty weather has died down for now. She yanks open his shed door and goes in. It feels wrong to be intruding, but this is too important. There are no folders or piles of paper on the shelves, only models and books about the phases of the moon and the moon landing. In the summer he recorded every programme on the landing’s fiftieth anniversary. He was obsessed with every detail of the old footage. She pulls open the drawer of the small desk tucked in the corner, but it’s full of junk, nothing relating to a business.

She wanders outside, picks up the spade that’s leaning against the back gate and starts digging out the weeds. She mustn’t neglect the garden or she’ll regret it come spring. After her dad died, she took over all the gardening. Her mother let everything go to seed and wouldn’t let Maddy touch it to start with. But she would sneak out and do little jobs so that her mother didn’t notice and before long she was oblivious to it anyway.

Maddy stands up and stretches her back. She hears a child laughing in a nearby garden and sees herself at Emily’s age running up and down the lawn playing tag with her dad then him bathing his feet in the paddling pool, splashing her with water so she shrieked and giggled. Her mother, cutting roses for the vase in the living room, smiling at the happy commotion. She remembers the summer parties they had with all the neighbours. Her father at the centre, captivating them with tales of his adventures around the world, her glamorous mother looking on.

Her stomach pinches. A bitter taste rises from her throat. She was so young, it’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when things started to change – the arguments and her dad staying away took over and all the fun came to an end.