As I weaved in and out of the trees, I entertained myself with exciting questions. Did I look like them? Did I have my mummy’s nose and my daddy’s eyes? I’d always thought how unlike Mother I looked. In books, sons and daughters usually resembled their parents in some way or other … it had been another clue that I had missed. Another clue that she had not been my real mother.

What would have happened if I had realized earlier, when I was nine or ten? Would I have known what to do?

No. You’d have done or said something stupid and she’d have punished you. Badly.

It was a horrible thought. One that made me feel sorry for my younger self. I had been so trusting, so willing to believe her lies. It also made me think that it was just as well I hadn’t realized the truth until now. Though I had never stepped foot outside the cottage until recently, I had read and learned enough of the outside world to survive. If I had escaped sooner, I probably wouldn’t have known how to cope in the real world. And now I was free, and I was going to see my real parents for the first time in ten years.

Excitement bubbled up inside me. I ran on and jerked to a stop as a black board slid down over every happy thought. It was Patrick. Patrick’s body.

I glanced around and saw a large leaf. I picked it up and placed it gently over his face, shivering as I did, unable to look at him. A sweet-sick smell filled the air around his body. Flies buzzed. I stumbled away and headed for the back garden.

‘Olivia? Olivia? It’s me.’

The garden was empty. Nothing but wild, tangled grass filled the space. I hurried over to the door in the ground, knelt down and called her name again. The idea of going back down there was chilling, but if Olivia was still in the hole, I had to get her out.

‘Olivia? Are you in there?’

I heard a groan and looked around. There, sitting on the ground, leaning against the back wall of the cottage, sat Olivia.

I rushed through the high grass and sank to my haunches beside her. She cradled her wounded hand in her lap. Her eyes were pink from crying. This was the first time I’d seen her. She looked like a prettier, skinnier version of Mother. Although I knew it wasn’t her, the similarity of their appearance brought bile to my throat.

‘Can you walk?’ I said.

‘You’re alive,’ she said, ‘I thought you were dead. I thought she was coming back to kill me.’

Her chin trembled and fresh tears trickled down her cheeks. She was milk-white and smelled worse than before, sort of un-human.