She’s wrong, Grace understands. She knows exactly how Eve felt; she was seduced by his words as well. It doesn’t make the pain any less, in fact it makes it worse – Martin has used the same trick twice. Grace glances at the hurrying figure by her side. Eve had lovely kids, a kind husband, fabulous houses, beautiful jewels – every gift it was possible to possess – and yet she took someone else’s husband, casually, lightly, as though entitled, like a child who helps herself to what she wants, without thought.

They are passing the empty paddock. The donkeys must be inside their stable, it’s too cold for them outside. Their new metal trough gleams in the rain. Eve’s most precious gifts have been torn from her. Compared to those brutal amputations, the affair with Martin is a flesh wound. She’ll survive; Ash didn’t, Sorrel might not. The little girl’s flower-like face, her trusting whisper pull at Grace’s heart; the decision to help isn’t a decision after all, she hasn’t a choice.

Eve’s words continue to pour out as she hurries. ‘… never trusted him. Eric thought he was great. He liked the children, he resented me for some reason, but I never dreamt he was capable of this. My God, how blind we were; we had no idea, no inkling though he practically lived with us. Why the hell didn’t we look more closely?’

But it’s the things that are close to you that are the most difficult to see, the things glimpsed beneath the surface. The boy on the estate, you and Martin. The opaque green water of the swimming pool in Greece flashes across her inner eye, the shadows on its surface, the children in the shallow end, playing games.

Eve stops short as they approach the bungalow. ‘We have to be careful, there’s another policewoman on guard at the front gate. We’ll go round the back.’

She pushes through a border of hydrangeas lining the path, their blowsy heads brown and soaked with rain, and then into the trees that encircle the property. The light darkens under the pines as they walk beneath them, the fallen needles cushioning their footsteps. Wet branches brush against her face; their minty scent is strong. They reach the wire fence at the back of the bungalow. Grace pulls up the bottom wire, Eve crawls beneath on all fours then Grace rolls through after her. The small space outside the back door of the bungalow feels claustrophobic, a dark place where a child could be bundled into the house unseen. The frosted sash window to the right of the door is fastened with a sliding bolt between the panes.

‘Have you a credit card?’

Eve fumbles in the pockets of her jeans and finds a battered plastic library card. ‘God knows how many times this has been through the wash.’