‘I hate to put it this way,’ says Michael, ‘but Lorna’s mind was warped when I met her. She had so many problems. Her own mother was a piece of work. Wanted to go out galivanting rather than look after her kids. Then Lorna had cancer at such a young age. It would mess anyone up. I was like this Jesus figure to her. She thought I could turn water into wine. Make everything better. But I couldn’t.’

‘God.’ Diane shakes her head. ‘That woman. She’ll rot in hell for what she did to you, Michael.’

‘It’s in the past now, Diane,’ says Michael. ‘And Liberty will know the truth about her soon enough. Now then, guests are arriving soon and—’ He cocks his head to one side, listening. ‘Anyone hear what I hear?’

I listen too.

There’s a sort of swooshing, rattling noise overhead, and the bi-folding doors vibrate a little in their frames.

Diane is nodding. ‘Trouble.’

‘What’s that noise?’ I ask.

‘The devil in a pretty dress,’ says Diane, giving Michael a hard look. ‘Miss Catherine Cannon.’

Lorna

Most people would feel embarrassed being driven home in the back of a police car. But right now, I couldn’t care less. Who do I know around here anyway? Only Nick. My big sister is thousands of miles away. The only thought on my mind is getting back to Michael’s house, climbing those gates and pulling my daughter out of there.

In the end, the police had to handcuff me. I still tried to open the police car from inside, but it didn’t work – there were child locks.

We’re cruising past the village post office. Heads turn. It’s unusual to see a police car around here.

‘You think you’re on the side of truth and justice,’ I tell the police officers. ‘But you’re just a bunch of pawns being moved around by a chess player.’ I glare out of the window. ‘He’s got us all playing his game. Again.’

The police remain silent. I’m sure they’ve heard worse insults in their time.

‘My van.’ I sit upright. ‘I left my workshop van outside his property. You have to drive me back.’

The policewoman turns around. ‘You’d be trespassing, madam. The road to Mr Ray’s house is private property. We’ll have a police officer bring your van home. Just leave us the keys.’

‘That van belongs to me. You have to let me get it.’

The policewoman puts up a hand to stop her colleague replying. ‘If you’re not happy with us driving your van, send a friend for it. Maybe your partner? I’d recommend you staying away from Mr Ray’s house right now.’

‘Mr Ray is not his real name,’ I say. ‘It’s all fake. Everything about him is fake.’