‘Right. Have you noticed any strangers in the vicinity?’ Branagh prompted. ‘Any men who aren’t from Rowanbrook hanging around?’

Mary thought she might be sick. She sagged against Della, closing her eyes.

‘No, no strangers,’ Della said to Branagh. She put her arms around Mary, as Branagh moved away.

‘Listen, Mary, there’s no stranger taking children, we’d have seen him. There’s no way on earth someone pulled up here, walked by us on the green, and took Lily right back past us. Do you hear me?’ She hugged her tightly.

Mary nodded, desperate to believe her.

‘But what about the other side,’ she whispered, ‘the shortcut Cora took through the trees. What if a car stopped at the end of the pathway and someone went in and took Lily? No one would even see—’ She broke off and put her hand to her mouth.

Della shook her head, lost for words.

Behind them, the woods and the building site filled with more and more searchers, word of mouth bringing neighbours from all over Rowanbrook and beyond. Only Ruth Cavanagh was idle, hovering near the entrance to the site. Della looked over at Ruth and shook her head. ‘If she thinks she’s going to slope off home,’ Della muttered, ‘she has another think coming. We need every pair of hands we can get.’ Out loud, she called, ‘Ruth, thanks for helping. Can you go with Mary to the houses down towards the back, and I’ll work on the middle row?’

Ruth nodded and moved wordlessly towards them. Della squeezed Mary’s arm and walked ahead. She wasn’t going to the middle row of houses, Mary knew that. She was going to the shortcut, the pathway through the trees, and trying to shield Mary from what she might find.

44

July 1985

FRAN SAT ON HER bed to tie her laces. Three hours missing. Poor little Lily, she’d be terrified, wherever she was. Fran could hear her mother’s voice wafting in from the hall, through her open bedroom door – Della on the phone to her sister.

‘The whole neighbourhood’s out,’ she was saying. ‘Though I think I caught Ruth Cavanagh trying to skive off, miserable thing that she is. You’d swear her walk was more important than helping out with the search.’

Fran tuned out. Once her mother got going on the subject of Ruth Cavanagh, there was no stopping her. Then something her mother was saying caught her attention.

‘I just don’t know if I should say anything,’ Della said. ‘I mean, Cora’s only eight. But she was the last one with her.’

Curious now, Fran slipped off her bed and tiptoed to the doorway to hear better.

‘No, it was more than once,’ Della continued, in response to something her sister had said. ‘I wish I’d said something to Mary now, but I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.’ She sighed. ‘God, how many awful things happen because people don’t want to jump to conclusions?’

A pause. Fran strained to listen, but her aunt’s voice was tinny and indistinct.