‘It’s Mrs Fisher,’ Anna’s mother said. Her voice was weak, a whisper of air. She didn’t take her eyes from Lizzie’s. Anna seemed not to notice. ‘Don’t you remember me?’

The question threw Lizzie completely. She sat back, shock preventing any words from forming. How, after thirty years, had there been any recognition?

‘Mum, are you going to sit down? Mum?’ Anna pulled a chair around and tried to get her mother to sit down. ‘Hello? Earth to mother!’ Anna’s voice became irritated. She looked across the table at Lizzie and leant in closer. ‘See what I mean?’ she said quietly, shaking her head. Lizzie felt her whole body relax. Mrs Fisher probably didn’t remember her at all, which was why she’d asked Lizzie if she remembered her. It wasn’t because she’d recognised Lizzie from when she was a child.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered back. ‘Yes, you did say you were worried about her … er … health, didn’t you?’

‘I am here, you know, no need to talk over me.’ Mrs Fisher pushed the chair back in under the table. ‘I am not losing my marbles. I just don’t want to sit here, thank you.’

‘Oh, okay, Mum. No problem, we’ll grab a different table.’ She guided Mrs Fisher away from Lizzie, mouthing an apology over her shoulder. Lizzie found herself glad they’d gone. Mrs Fisher. Muriel Fisher, the name Lizzie had given as her auntie. Which made Anna her daughter.

But Rob had told her that Muriel’s daughter was called Bella.

The memory of their first meeting at the church gate shot into her mind, the words Anna said when she introduced herself: ‘I’m Anna. I’m the one that got away.’

Bloody hell. Anna was Bella. So, Lizzie wasn’t the only one hiding her real identity. There was definitely more to Anna’s story than she’d first thought.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

1989

Blackstone Close

Tuesday 27th June – 22 days before

‘Why aren’t you at school today, Eliza?’ Muriel asked. She’d stopped by Billy Cawley’s driveway, to the side of his red truck, not daring to step inside the boundary – she didn’t want him to see her if she could get away with it. Not before she’d been able to talk with his little girl, anyway. It was a risky move; even being there was. But she was willing to take the chance on this occasion. Someone had to. There were too many warning signals to ignore. It was wrong to stand by, do nothing. Her conscience couldn’t take it, and she felt sure the others would agree. She hadn’t told them she was going to approach Eliza – she didn’t need their permission.

Muriel didn’t need their permission to keep the children of Mapledon safe. But she might need their help.

Eliza turned her face towards Muriel. Her breath caught. There was a distinct yellowing mark on Eliza’s temple. A fading bruise. It confirmed Muriel’s suspicion.

‘Are you poorly?’ Muriel tried again. She crouched down and smiled. Eliza knew Muriel from Sunday school, she wasn’t a stranger – so hopefully she could coax her to talk.