“Are you sure it’s true, though? That policewoman might have got the wrong end of the stick. In fact, she probably did. Let’s face it, it doesn’t sound likely.”

Moira hopes it is true. The disappointment in her voice is palpable. I am able to reassure her.

“I didn’t believe it at first either, but when I saw how the lawyer reacted to me, I realised it was true. And my father hasn’t contacted me since that first phone call. Normally he would be ringing me night and day to bring things to him and do things for him, but I haven’t heard a word.”

“Why, though? Why would he do that? I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure. The insurance fraud makes sense. He has always hated the house in Worcester and everything in it. I can see him taking a match to the whole lot. He has the life he wants now. The bachelor flat. The lock-up-and-go lifestyle. No family obligations.”

“What gave him away after all this time?”

I can answer this because I was part of it. “He got greedy. The insurance company have been dragging their heels over the payment. I think they often do when there’s a fire involved. There is always a question mark hanging over a fire. Did the owner set it himself? But they were on the point of paying out when my father made his mistake. He wildly over-valued the contents of the house. Every painting was an old Master. Every ornament was a fragment of the True Cross. It made them suspicious, so they started looking more closely at the claim.”

“That makes sense.”

Moira’s frustration is obvious. She doesn’t want to talk about insurance fraud. I take pity on her.

“He didn’t want them to steal anything like money or electronics, right? He took those with him when we escaped.”

“Okay.”

“But there had to be a motive for breaking in besides just setting fire to the house. So, the motive was rape.”

“Right.”

Moira looks at me. Her mouth is open as if she wants to say something, but no words come. I don’t mind. I would rather have her here, struggling with inarticulacy, than be left alone with my thoughts.

“What are you going to do?”

“I am going to live. I am going to work and eat and sleep. I might see Eugene if he contacts me again.” A memory starts to glow in my brain. “I meant to ask—have you seen his cousin again? Raz?”

Moira smiles. “No. But it was good while it lasted.”

“How long did it last?”

“An afternoon.”

“Okay.”