‘Why the hell didn’t Bethany say anything?’ When Nick doesn’t reply, Matt asks, ‘How did you know? How did you find out? Why didn’t you tell us before?’

Chloe whimpers and Matt remembers himself, rubs his daughter’s arm and releases her.

Nick looks out of the window. ‘Bethany only just told me,’ he says eventually. ‘The bump on her head – she must have been feeling vulnerable. Guilty.’ He puts his hands in his pockets and leans back against the oven as if he’s exhausted. ‘I told her to tell you. Gave her a couple of days. And this is her answer.’

‘This is her answer? This is her fucking answer? To bugger off to America? She should face the consequences. She ought to go to prison for this!’ Matt stands up, his chair crashing against the wall. ‘I’m going to ring the police. I’m not—’

Amy takes a breath, finds the paralysis has gone. She rises to her feet and puts a hand on Matt’s arm.

‘Don’t,’ she says.

He’s about to pull away. His face contorts with fury. She can see it in his eyes: he thinks she’s going to protect Bethany, choose her sister over their daughter.

‘I never want to see Bethany again,’ she tells him. ‘Leave it. Leave her.’

‘I imagine she’s suffering,’ their father says.

In the silence, Chloe sobs. Matt’s knees buckle and he sinks back into the chair.

‘I feel as if Ruby-May has been killed all over again,’ Amy says.

Nick looks stricken. ‘I’m sorry, Ames,’ he says. ‘I am so sorry. But I thought we should all know the truth.’

She nods. None of them say anything for a moment. She can hear the kitchen tap dripping, the hum of the oven. The curry must have dried out by now.

‘But the lengths she went to, to frame Dad. I mean, that’s...’

‘Evil,’ says Matt.

Nick coughs, and glances at his father. ‘She did have a reason.’

‘Nothing could justify how she treated Dad,’ Amy says.

Nick ignores her. ‘When Bethany was sixteen she left home—’

‘What does this have to do with…’ Matt interrupts.

‘Do you remember, Dad?’

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Oh, it was all drama, with Bethany.’

‘She went to live in a squat in Bristol with some anarchists.’

Her father tilts his head to one side as he remembers. ‘They were masters’ students studying on my course,’ he says, with the air of a professor correcting his student’s grammar. ‘Not a bad lot, but it wasn’t suitable for a girl of Bethany’s age to live with those young men in such surroundings. I went to see her. The place reeked of mice; the kitchen floor had caved in. The whole building had been condemned.’

‘You tried to persuade her to come home.’