She stayed where she was and jabbed the knife at me, each jab punctuating a syllable. ‘I’m not perfect. What mother is? But you, Mirabelle – you were supposed to be perfect. You were supposed to be mine. My perfect little doll. Someone for me and only me. A perfect little doll I could raise as my own, a darling little creature who didn’t need anyone else except for me. I wanted to give you everything I never had and I couldn’t let the outside world spoil you like it spoiled her. I wanted to keep you safe. You understand that, don’t you, Mirabelle? I’ve been doing all of this to protect you. I saved you from those evil people in the outside world. I saved you from a life of cruelty and lies. I saved you, Mirabelle.’

‘I’m not Mirabelle. My name’s Polly.’

She seemed not to hear me. She stabbed again. Only two yards away now. ‘But you ruined that. All my efforts to make you the perfect little doll, and what do you do? Betray me. Sneak around behind my back. Make up foul, hurtful lies about me. Try to leave me. Convince Clarabelle of your lies, make her turn on me too.’

‘It’s not lies,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘It’s the truth. You kidnapped me ten years ago, then two weeks ago you took Emma. You know that’s the truth.’

‘No! You lie. You’re evil, just like Olivia. As soon as age claimed you, you changed, just like she did. First, you hid things from me, then you snuck behind my back, and then you tried to manipulate Clarabelle into liking you more than me and having vile thoughts about me, exactly like Olivia did with Grandfather.’

She laughed nastily. ‘Well, it came back to haunt her, didn’t it? When he finally succumbed to his darkest urges and acted on them, she came running to me – begged me to help her, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. She didn’t deserve my help. She did it to herself. She ruined my life.

‘And then,’ her breath hitched and her eyes shone with madness, ‘then, she got pregnant and instead of having the baby and giving it to someone like me who would love and care for it and give it everything it needed, she got an abortion. She killed her own baby.’

She clutched her stomach as if in pain. Misery dragged down her features.

I shook my head. ‘She needed your help. She was only twelve when he started hurting her. You could have helped her. Even though she was mean to you, you should have helped her. You knew what was happening and you did nothing. You could have told someone. Anyone. She was too scared to speak up. She told you because she needed your help.’