She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t stop to check. I’ve been out here searching for you two all day. You don’t know how worried I’ve been. Now, tell me where you last saw Clarabelle. This is your final chance before I turn around and go back to that house.’

Up ahead I could see houses and tall lights on the side of the road. Were we in a town? My heartbeat jackhammered. I sat up straighter, staring at every house we passed, pressing my nose to the glass. One of those houses could be my house. My real parents’ house. I looked at the car door. It was locked, but maybe …

‘You have three seconds to tell me. Three, two—’ She slowed the car down.

I turned to her, thoughts of trying the door vanishing, and blurted, ‘You need to turn around. Go back the way we came. I last saw Emma at a farm a few fields away from Dot and Harold’s house. I left her there. I can tell you how to get there, just please don’t hurt Dot.’

She smiled at me. ‘Good doll.’

She spun the car around, tyres squealing, and sped back up the road.

For a second I hoped that someone had heard the squealing car and decided to follow us, see what the hurry was all about. But it was night-time and no one sped after us. Heart sinking, I stared out of the window at the last of the houses as we pulled away from a town. I thought about Emma wandering around alone in the middle of the night. I didn’t think Mother would hurt Emma. Couldn’t believe she was that far gone.

I ran over everything I had told Dot. Had I told her my real name? I had definitely told her about Emma and the fact that I had been kidnapped ten years ago. I gritted my teeth; I had not told Dot anything about the cottage, about where it was. Would the small amount that I had told her be enough for the police to go on? She had told Dot that her name was Mrs Stone. Could that be useful information? Was that the truth or was it another lie?

My stomach began to settle, grown used to the bumpy journey. I looked at the gun on her lap. I could easily reach it.

‘Where now?’ her voice cut through my thoughts.

We were edging past Greenfield House. The large, white door was still open, the lights still on. No black car sat in the drive. Harold wasn’t back yet.

‘It’s five fields in that direction,’ I said, pointing.

Her eyes lit up. She smiled at me. ‘I know it. The knacker’s yard. Good doll. You don’t know how relieved I am. I was beginning to fear you were as bad as Olivia. Always lying. Rotten.’