‘Jesus.’ I’m trying to imagine leaving one of my children with someone else to raise.

‘It’s no different to adoption,’ Cynthia says, reading my mind. ‘Don’t be so fucking judgemental.’

This, from the woman who locked a small child in a bedroom, and left an only slightly older child alone for hours on end.

‘But how did Lila end up with you?’ I use her name deliberately this time, testing new boundaries. She doesn’t flinch.

‘The grandmother – Ines’s mother – she got sick. She died in 1985 – just before Lily Murphy disappeared, I think. I remember I was minding Cora that day, during the search. Ines had flown to Spain that morning for the funeral.’

‘And to bring Lila back?’

A nod. ‘There was nobody there to look after her any more. And even Ines wasn’t cold enough to abandon her child with no one to take care of her.’

‘How nice of her. And how did she end up with you?’

‘Ines was used to me, I suppose. Knew how good I was with kids.’

This makes me laugh and Cynthia has the nerve to look hurt.

‘I was good at my job. I was fun. Not like those po-faced mothers who never let their kids do anything.’ A mean smile slides across her face. ‘I bet that’s what you’re like. Over-protective and overbearing. Needy? Neurotic? I’m right, aren’t I? But kids liked me and Ines knew that.’

Give me strength.

‘She just gave you her child?’

‘Well, no – we agreed it in advance, obviously, and it was temporary. She came home when her mother was sick, and took me aside at a garden party at the Murphys’. Laid it all out, how much she’d pay, what she’d need from me, mentioned Lila’s diabetes and so on. It was only supposed to be for a few weeks, and the pay was very good.’ She taps ash on to a filthy saucer. ‘Like, very good. I was what you might call an off-site babysitter? But weeks turned into months, and Ines never found a more permanent solution. And she couldn’t risk Victor finding out. Divorce wasn’t legal yet here but it wouldn’t have stopped him cutting her off.’

‘So he knew nothing?’

‘Not then. He found out just before he died. Lila was dead by then.’

There isn’t an ounce of emotion when she says it. All these years, she hasn’t let me so much as say her name – too traumatic, too painful – and now, just like that: Lila was dead by then.

‘Did Ines visit? I don’t remember seeing anyone here …’

‘No, never. I had to give her updates; how Lila was doing, with her health issues, and so on.’

Health issues. What a neat term.

‘Wasn’t she worried about the diabetes?’

‘No. I was managing it.’ She stubs out her cigarette and takes a long slug of whiskey. ‘Until you messed up.’

‘I was ten!’

‘Don’t get all stroppy about it now. What you did ruined everything – it was the end of the money.’