But as much as I want to cling to this idea – that somebody else did something, that it wasn’t Cynthia and it wasn’t me – I can’t escape the facts.

‘The thing is though,’ I say carefully, ‘Lily wasn’t in that room …’

‘I know, but he clearly locked her in. And nobody looked into it.’

‘But then she’d have been found there …?’

‘Not if she climbed out the window. There was scaffolding and planks of wood outside, but what if she fell off that and someone hid her body?’

I shiver.

‘Or what if she managed to get down to the ground and then fell in the river?’ Ellen’s voice cracks. ‘It would still be Gavin’s fault for trapping her there.’

I put my hand on her arm, looking for the right thing to say, but I can’t quite order my thoughts or find the words.

Because if Gavin caused Lily’s death, then Lila wasn’t Lily. And I didn’t kill her.

Somehow, this doesn’t give me any peace at all.

34

June 1985

FRAN WAS PAGING THROUGH a magazine in her kitchen on Sunday evening when Della lowered herself into a chair, a curious look on her face.

‘So, were you going to tell me about Zara?’ she asked.

‘What about Zara?’

‘Come on, Fran.’

Fran stared. ‘Mam, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You really don’t know?’

‘Know what?’ God, her mother could drive her crazy.

‘About the baby.’ Della whispered the last word, though there was nobody else in the house.

Fran’s blood ran cold. ‘Baby?’

‘She’s expecting. Did she really not tell you?’

‘No! I mean yes, but she couldn’t be, Mam. She doesn’t even have a boyfriend. Her period’s late, that’s all. Who told you?’

‘Her mother. She phoned me to give me a dressing-down. All my fault, and your fault, apparently.’

‘What?’

Della sighed. ‘I couldn’t make much sense of it. She ranted and raved that you were a bad influence and I’ve no control over you, and no wonder I’d been left on my own with five children and did they even have the same dad.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘Fran. Language.’

‘Sorry, but come on.’

‘I know. Look, I need you to tell me. What is her mam on about? Why does she think this has anything to do with you?’

Fran shook her head. None of it made any sense. But she needed to talk to Zara.

Shoulders hunched, head bent, Zara marched down her driveway as Fran followed a few steps behind. Zara didn’t stop until she got to the green, where she lowered herself on to the grass at the entrance to the building site. Fran sat beside her, wishing she’d worn something warmer than shorts.

‘What’s going on?’ she asked her friend.

‘You tell me.’

‘My mam said you’re expecting? The test was positive?’

‘Yes, the test was positive.’

Jesus. Poor Zara. Fran reached for her hand. Zara snatched it away.

‘But whose is—’ A glare from Zara stopped Fran finishing her sentence. ‘I take it your parents went mad?’ she said instead.