‘Come here.’ Michael pulled me into a hug. ‘You’re my one and all. Okay? Annalise won’t stay here long.’ He tapped me on the head. ‘That pretty little brain of yours. Thinking too much as always. Don’t make this out to be more than it is, okay? It’s just a few days.’ He looked right at me then, eyes sincere. ‘You know who I am, Lorna. I’m not perfect. Maybe I’m not even that good some of the time. But you know who I am. A man who loves you very much. Listen – I get angry because I care. I’m scared, you know? Just a scared little boy at heart. Scared you’ll stop loving me. I don’t mean to show it with my fists. It’s just how I was brought up. Tell me you love me. Tell me you love me and you’ll never leave me.’

I started crying. ‘Of course I love you.’

‘Hey.’ Michael squeezed me tight. ‘I’m one of the good guys. I have a big heart. Too big a heart, letting Cat’s daughter come to stay. But what could I do? We can’t let her be out on the street, can we?’

‘No. I guess not. It’ll just be a few days, right?’

‘Just a few days.’

Lorna

I’m standing on a swivel chair in Liberty’s bedroom, pulling climbing ropes from the top shelf of her wardrobe.

Darcy is toddling around the room, sticking more Post-it notes on things.

Guitar. Poster. Desk.

Being in my daughter’s room, with the Suzi Quatro and Jean Seberg posters on the wall, arthouse French movie DVDs lined up in alphabetical order on the wardrobe shelf, it’s tearing my heart out.

‘Lorna.’ Nick is in the doorway, his body covered in Darcy’s Post-it notes. ‘I’m still not getting this. You think Michael sent you this book.’ He holds The Tales of Hans Christian Andersen, frowning as he flips pages. ‘And it’s some kind of message?’

Abdomen. Forehead. Left buttock.

Dee is beside Nick, also covered in Post-it notes.

Neck. Shoulder. Stomach – big.

‘Of course it’s a message,’ I say. ‘There was a slip of paper in the book.’

‘Maybe it was your slip of paper,’ says Dee. ‘From years ago. You used to do that. Make bookmarks out of whatever was close to hand. Maybe Michael’s just returning your property to you. Sort of like saying, good riddance.’

‘No. The paper is too new. And there are highlights.’

‘You used to make highlights.’

‘The parts about sacrifice? Why would I highlight that?’

‘You were very dramatic as a teenager,’ said Dee. ‘You used to gravitate towards misery.’