‘Oh, thank goodness.’ I sighed with relief. ‘Hayes undoubtedly wanted her dead. His lifestyle depends on him being ready to run at any second, and you can’t do that with a small child.’

The nurse looked incredulous. ‘On the positive side, the psychologist has seen her. She said Abbie’s attachment to her mum was secure. Just shows that parenting comes naturally to some people, despite their circumstances.’

‘No compensation for losing her mum, of course, but it’s good news,’ I said.

‘The main thing is that it will help her to bond with foster carers and any adoptive family members.’ A huge smile spread over the woman’s face. ‘I’ll take you over. She’s made a friend already.’ She gestured to the boy, who was laying out toys on the little girl’s bed.

‘Hello, Abbie. I’m Maya. Have you made a new buddy?’

The girl fixed large brown eyes on me. ‘Are you a friend of Mummy’s?’

‘Sort of. How are you feeling?’

‘Can I go home soon? Where’s Mummy?’

‘I think the doctors and nurses want to look after you a bit longer.’

Her face fell but then she was distracted. ‘Not there. Here.’ She shifted a piece of Lego. ‘This is Joshua. He’s got a poorly foot.’ Abbie clipped the plastic pieces together. ‘We’re making another hospital so that there will be room for all the sick children.’

The boy continued to lay out pieces on the sheet.

‘I need you for a moment, Joshua, please,’ the nurse said, and she held out her hand to steer him away so I could talk to Abbie.

I showed her a photograph of Ali. ‘Have you met this boy before?’

She nodded.

‘Was he a friend of your dad’s?’

She screwed up her face. ‘Don’t think so.’ She had a worried look.

‘That’s OK. Do you know his name?’

‘Uncle Ali. He’s not from here. He’s not my real uncle either.’

‘What about this man with your dad?’ I showed her another image. ‘Do you recognise him?’

She continued to hold the Lego and leant towards the image to get a better look. ‘That’s Uncle John. He’s my real uncle.’

‘That’s excellent. Well done. Shall I come and see you again soon?’

She nodded profusely. ‘If you like. Can you bring Mummy?’

Maya, 9 a.m.

Maya, 9 a.m.

Rosa was standing in the doorway of the newsagent’s when I arrived. She had a primrose-yellow scarf round her neck, and hope glimmered in her eyes in a way I hadn’t seen since I was a child.

‘Best thing for it,’ she shouted over the top of the rumble and thud from the bulldozer, and gestured to the remains of the soup shop. ‘She can start again. We all can. I should have sold up when Józef died.’