‘Do I look like the sort of person who can be brainwashed?’

‘Totally,’ I say. ‘You’re in pain. You want something. Those are the only two ingredients he needs.’

‘So explain Diane. She’s been with him over twenty years. Is she brainwashed?’

‘Of course she is. She’s a good Catholic girl who hates divorce. She has to believe her husband is perfect.’

‘Why have you come here, Lorna? Just to spread more shit about Michael? I’m the closest to peace I’ve ever been.’

‘I want you to help me,’ I say. ‘You’re clean now. Tell the police that Michael lied about Annalise. And about me living with him. They’ll believe you. It won’t be like before.’

‘What is there to remember?’ says Cat. ‘I never knew anything. I just repeated what you told me.’

‘You know Annalise stayed with us.’

‘That’s what I thought, but … you know, I was on heroin. I don’t trust any of my memories from back then. And nor should you. You weren’t in such a great place.’

‘Cat. Michael has my daughter. She’s at his house right now. She’s the same age Annalise was when she went missing. Does that mean nothing to you?’

Cat puts long, bony fingers on my shoulder. ‘He hurt you. I get it. He’s a married man who used you for sex. That’s the bad part. But he also raises millions for charity. He called me every single day after Annalise went missing. He even asked me to go and stay with him.’

‘Of course – he wanted to keep you close. Of course he did. My daughter—’

‘This is starting to sound crazy, Lorna. I mean … you spying on Michael again. After all this time. It’s weird. It sounds like you’re having a total psychotic break.’

‘Talk to the police. Tell them—’

‘Tell them what? Michael’s my friend.’ Cat clicks open a Chanel handbag and passes me a card. ‘Here. Take it. It’s a card for my psychiatrist. She really helped me a lot.’

Liberty

The kitchen breakfast table is laid with hunks of wholemeal bread, a bottle of olive oil and roasted mushrooms. Skywalker eats a bowl of chopped-up steak on the slate floor, chewing slowly because his stomach is already full of dog biscuits.

‘So I’m hoping Michael and I can talk after breakfast,’ I say, watching Diane pour coffee.

‘About your mother?’

‘Yes.’ I pour olive oil on fresh bread.

‘Well, I’m sure—’ Diane smiles at the door. ‘Here he is. The great man himself.’

Michael strolls into the kitchen wearing a black V-neck T-shirt, suit jacket and tight jeans. His hair is shower-wet and he’s now clean-shaven.

‘And here she is.’ Michael jogs around the table and hugs me. ‘My little girl. Right here at my breakfast table. Unbelievable. A dream come true.’