‘But Mary was still living with him?’

‘That broke my heart. There was a small reprieve – a week or two during the search when he didn’t go near her with his fists. She even started to worry she’d made a mistake. Imagine thinking that. My husband hasn’t knocked me to the floor in a fortnight, maybe I was wrong about him. But that’s how it is, I suppose. Hard for any of us who haven’t been through it to understand that desperate need to believe he’s not a monster. But then one morning she slipped into my house and I could tell from the way she was holding herself something was wrong. Cradling her ribcage, lowering herself so slowly to the chair, wincing when Lily jumped into her arms. The monster was back.’

‘The poor woman.’

‘And it only got worse. He stopped caring about hiding the cuts and bruises, she stopped going out. They became recluses – at night and at weekends, they stayed indoors. He took it all out on her. It was her fault Lily had disappeared: she hadn’t been taking proper care, he knew Cora wasn’t to be trusted – he’d said so and Mary hadn’t listened, he claimed. And it was all her fault for letting Lily out of her sight.’

‘Jesus. And then he had his heart attack and Mary was free.’

Ruth gives me a funny look.

‘Yes. Mary was better off. She and Lily went to stay over on the other side of the city, with a new name for Lily.’

‘What did she call her?’

A sidelong glance. ‘No need for you to know that.’

‘Wait, do you know where she is now? Are you still in touch?’

‘Mary passed away, unfortunately.’ Ruth’s eyes glisten as she says it. ‘Bloody cancer. And here’s me, lingering on at ninety-three. Life’s very unfair.’ She shakes her head.

‘I’m sorry. But I meant’ – I hesitate – ‘I meant Lily. Is she alive?’

No response.

‘Please. Is she alive? Do you know where she is?’

Ruth smiles and the dreamy look is back.

‘It must be time for Glenroe. Will you put on the television on your way out?’

Ruth has picked up a book from the windowsill and is turning the pages as though searching for her place. But it’s fake, it’s all fake. She’s not really looking for her page, she’s waiting for me to walk out. The air is thick, buzzing with told and untold stories.

‘Can you at least let me know she’s not dead? I’ve spent every hour of the last few weeks thinking about her, searching for answers. Haven’t I earned the right to know?’

Still paging through the book, Ruth doesn’t look up when she answers but her voice is clear.

‘That’s fair. Yes, she’s alive.’

‘Oh, thank God.’ Certainty, finally.

Ruth looks surprised, wondering, I suppose, why I’m so invested in this.

‘That little girl, I felt so sad for her, and now she’s … I’m just happy.’