‘You don’t know?’ More anger flashes across Michael’s face. It’s so quick this time that I’m not sure if it was ever really there. But now Michael is smiling and putting an arm around my shoulder. ‘Of course you don’t know yet. This must be so hard. You’ve lost a mother, found a mother, then lost her again – all in one day. It’s a lot to deal with. Can you see now why I didn’t want to tell you who your real mother was? There’s so much pain there. For all of us.’

‘What do you think happened to my real mother?’

‘God forgive her, I think that beautiful girl took her own life. She was a child having a child. And then to have her baby taken from her, stolen by a jealous rival … it broke her.’

I shake my head. ‘I can’t believe Lorna did that to her. Stole me away.’

‘I think evil is the word for it.’

‘So … what was my birth mother like? I mean, by the sounds of things you knew her better than anyone.’

Michael drops his sunglasses down onto his face. ‘And I’m ashamed of it, Liberty. God help me, I am. But Annalise was quite something. She had the most beautiful singing voice. It was from another world. She felt music in a way I’ve never seen before. For a soul like that to just disappear … utterly tragic. In my opinion, Lorna destroyed that girl just the same as if she’d held a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.’

‘Maybe Annalise isn’t dead. If no one has ever found her … I mean, it’s possible she’s still alive, isn’t it?’

Michael shakes his head. ‘She would have been found by now. I think she hurled herself off a cliff somewhere and was swept out to rot at sea. Let’s get ourselves into the house and we’ll talk some more.’

I turn and click my fingers at Skywalker. ‘Come on, boy. Come on. Stop being a dead weight.’

‘What’s he doing, that dog of yours?’ says Michael, frowning. ‘Get him inside, would you?’

Skywalker is lying on the brick moat bridge, nose to the ground.

I shake my head. ‘I’ve trained him, but he’s still a rescue dog. He’s always doing crazy stuff. This is probably a protest. He wants to go back and run around the woods, sniffing everything.’

‘He looks like he’s having a rest,’ says Michael. ‘Get the old boy moving.’ He whistles. ‘Come on, doggy. Let’s be having you.’

I walk back to Skywalker, standing over him. ‘Come on, friend. On your feet. Let’s go inside and feed you.’

Skywalker doesn’t move.