There’s a long silence, broken by a wood pigeon squawking outside.

‘So … how did she have a baby?’ I say eventually.

‘She didn’t.’

There’s another long silence.

‘She’s not your real mother, Liberty. She’s just a girl who liked me a heck of a lot and couldn’t let go. When I had a baby with someone else, it drove her mad with jealousy. So when she saw a chance to hurt me she took it. By stealing you.’

I stare at him. ‘No. My mother … I mean, she has her faults. But she would never do that. Take another woman’s child? No way.’

‘Lorna was a young kid who thought she might die, Liberty. And then she was told she could never have children. She wasn’t in her right mind. And she was obsessed with me and my music. Hearing my voice during the chemo and all of that. And then she finally met me and thought I could wave a magic wand and make it all okay. Marriage and children. The whole fairy tale. I treated her badly. I admit it. I should have known better. The whole thing sent her a bit mad. Being sick can make people do crazy things. Lorna was sick in the body and sick in the head. I don’t know if it was all the treatments, but her head wasn’t right. Liberty, look right into my eyes, baby girl. Your mother isn’t your mother. She stole you from this house on the day you were born.’

‘No,’ I blurt out. ‘That can’t be true.’

Michael puts his hands on my shoulders. ‘Now tell me, do I look like I’m lying?’

I look into his eyes. They are totally sincere. ‘No.’ I turn away. ‘But none of this makes sense. Is … is Diane my mother?’

‘Oh, Liberty bell. I wish she were. But Diane knows nothing about any of this. She thinks Lorna is your real mother. To tell Diane the whole truth would just hurt her even more. And trust me, she’s been hurt enough.’

‘So who is my real mother?’

‘Listen – let’s go back to the house. Okay? We’ll talk more there.’

Once upon a time …

How much do you trust your own mind?

Living with Michael was never as solid as other memories. Not hard and vivid, like growing up in the US or Dee’s apartment or meeting Nick. When I was sixteen, reality was something Michael built for me, brick by brick. So memories, reality, perception – it became a jumble, a blur, a big cloud of renovation dust. Everything hazy. But here’s a memory that’s clearer than the rest:

One day, through that twirling cloud of plaster, Cat Cannon’s daughter banged on Michael’s front door.