He crept up beside the hedges, ears sharpened, focusing on the voices. Girls, not boys. He relaxed, straightening. He was about to walk away, but then he caught what they were saying.

‘Don’t believe what Jonie tells you. Really, she’s a nasty bully and will say anything to get what she wants,’ one girl said.

Then a different voice: ‘I heard what she did to Eliza. Do you think she really did that?’

Pat stiffened. He didn’t want to listen to any more. It was just kids’ talk. Gossip. He didn’t want to hear bad things about Tina’s girl – that would be awkward. But the other girl started talking again, and he couldn’t walk away. He carried on listening.

‘She was inside. Actually inside the bungalow. I mean, she might be a bully, but she’s a brave one. I wouldn’t go inside, would you?’

‘No way! But why did she go in?’

‘Apparently, it was a dare. Robert told me. She told him he was next, that he had to go inside, otherwise she’d tell.’

‘Tell what?’

‘That’s the point, no one knows.’

‘Wow. We’re not going to do that dare, are we?’

Pat heard the quiver in the girl’s voice.

‘Don’t be daft, no way – I just told you I’d never go in there. My mum said he’s nasty and hurts people; that’s why Eliza is so weird. He hits her and locks her in a cupboard. Mum said if he got someone inside the bungalow, they’d probably never come out again.’

‘But Jonie did. If what you say is true.’

‘Yeah, but only because she let him do stuff to her.’

Pat couldn’t bear to listen to any more. These kids were about ten, eleven at most and shouldn’t be talking like that. He shuddered. Where was the naivety, the innocence? What was the world coming to? But, more worryingly, what was Jonie playing at? The almost-harmless Knock, Knock game seemed to have progressed to a more dangerous one, one he really didn’t like the sound of at all.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

2019

Anna

Tuesday 16th July

When Anna left Sandie’s house, her mind had been filled with questions about Tina and Pat. She’d walked back down her mother’s path, but instead of going in the front door, she’d slipped down the side and into the garden shed, her fingers curled tightly around the doll’s leg. She hadn’t wanted to show Muriel. And she’d wanted to be alone when she uncovered the words on the paper. The arm and note from the other day were also safely stowed away in the old wooden storage unit at the back of the shed – her dad’s – the one where he used to keep all the odd bits of junk: spare plugs, nails, plant stakes, garden scissors and small tools and God knew what else. Most of it still remained in the drawers, which hadn’t surprised her given the rest of the house, but the cupboard part had enough space to fit the additional items.