She’s about to close the lid when she notices the lining is sagging at the bottom. Drawing her hand across the bulge, she feels the weight of paper. She delves into the lining deeper until her fingers reach the slicing edges. Out come blank Inland Revenue expenses and benefits forms, a list of vaccination dates typed on an old typewriter and a bundle of vehicle licence stamp cards, almost full and all from Huntingdon Post Office. There are bank statements and a few paying-in receipts. She finds one for the twenty thousand pound cheque she gave him. She scans through the statement to find the same date. The money went in then came out again only a few days later. But who was it transferred to? The letters and numbers don’t mean anything to her. She rakes through several more papers and comes to a bundle clipped together at the back. But these are not Max’s. They belong to someone called Adam Hawkins of Lawn End, Huntingdon. Her mind goes into a spin. Why would he have these? She’s never heard him mention an Adam Hawkins before. She sits on the edge of the bed and deals out each sheet one by one, like it’s a pack of cards. There it is. The sum of twenty thousand pounds leaps out at her – transferred from Max’s bank account to this one on Friday, 24th November 2017. She swallows hard but her throat catches, her mouth is so dry. Who on earth is Adam Hawkins and why did Max give him the money without telling her? Then her eyes are drawn to a letter addressed to Mr Hawkins, the subject of the letter is underlined: Plot 146, 29 Lawn End. Why does Max have this man’s house key? What else has he been keeping from her? She knows only too well how secrets can destroy a person.

Chapter Twelve

Max: March 2011

It turned out that all the living room was riddled with cracks. By Friday afternoon, Max had started the prep work on the last wall. He didn’t want to stop until he’d finished, but even with Maddy’s help, he hadn’t banked on it taking till almost midnight.

‘I meant to tell you I found some work with a local firm, fitting kitchens.’ He’d been dreading telling her all day.

‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘When do you start?’

He couldn’t help feeling pleased that it bothered her. He’d been seriously tempted to turn it down. The thought of not spending every day with Maddy hit him hard, like trying to cling onto the edge of a cliff.

‘Monday.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

‘I s’pose. But I like being here though.’ He searched her face for signs that she might miss him too. She blinked up at him with her dark innocent eyes.