Jesus Christ, Danny buried the baby alive, he buried the fucking baby alive. The room shifts slightly, forcing me to focus my eyes on the empty cup in the middle of the table to maintain my balance. There isn’t enough air in here. Danny is holding his head in his hands, eyes closed. This is unbelievable.

‘What did Mom do?’ I say.

‘She screamed and screamed, dug her up, begged God to let her be okay, promising Him everything if he kept Rebecca alive. But it was too late.’ Danny’s face is barely recognizable as he speaks.

‘I was standing behind her, bawling. At this stage I knew I had done wrong, that the baby had only been asleep… I can still see her.’ Dropping his head back he looks upwards. ‘Mom, blowing into her mouth, pressing on her tiny chest… Then lifting her, squeezing her tightly to her chest, kissing her head, kissing her legs, kissing her eyes. She held her for what seemed like forever. Until we were disturbed by a noise at the side gate. When I turned around Bert Ryan was standing there. He walked away when he saw me looking.’

‘Did Bert do anything?’ I ask.

‘Nothing, not until he gave me that pink coat.’

‘Why was he there? Did he often call to the house?’

‘All the time when Dad was away, usually at night after I was sent to bed. He and Mom would talk for hours.’

My mind is racing here. Why did Bert used to call so often? Were he and Mom… no, don’t go there Becca. No, do go there Becca.

‘Why was Bert always in the house, Danny? Were they having an affair?’

By the expression on his face, Danny has only just thought of that.

‘I doubt it, Becca. Bert is an old man.’

‘He wasn’t old then, he was twenty-five years younger.’

Danny’s gaze falls to the table. Rubbing his hair, he lifts his eyes. ‘Jesus, maybe that’s what Mom had on him. Maybe he…’ He stands, then walks over to the sink. His mouth is open but he’s lost for words.

‘Why else would Bert say nothing?’ I say. ‘Mom must have threatened to tell Edith.’

Shaking his head, he turns around. I can tell he is digesting my words.

‘We know she had no problem lying, Danny. She lied to me forever, every day, holding me, kissing me, pretending I was hers.’

‘This is a fucking mess,’ he says, moving back to the table. ‘He must have taken the coat out of the trash the night we came back with you. It was late, I remember the house being in darkness and Mom saying not to switch the lights on. She bathed you by candlelight, then put you in Becca’s clothes, throwing your clothes into the trash.’

‘Came back from where?’ I say.

‘The trip,’ Danny says. ‘The one we took to get you.’

Chapter Forty-Eight