She settled on the pages covering the week commencing the twenty-third of December and ran her finger down the daily jottings until she got to the day Olivia and her father had returned from Glasgow. Her eyes scanned the writing looking for any mention of William. She found one entry which referred to a conversation that had taken place between her daughter and her son-in-law.

Our poor Catherine’s broken hearted, after hearing their first grandchild wasn’t strong enough to make it. She asked William if there was any chance of burying the baby at St Michael’s, so that the family might visit the grave, but he said it was too late as he’d already buried the child in Glasgow …

‘I knew it,’ she muttered between pursed lips, ‘I blooming well knew it!’

Ivor looked up from his bowl of scouse. ‘Knew what?’

She turned the diary to show him, but he shrugged. ‘I can’t read that without my glasses.’

She read the entry, then looked at him expectantly. ‘Told you he was lying!’ she said with an air of triumph.

Her husband took another spoonful of scouse. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘But why tell our Liv he’d had the baby cremated when he clearly didn’t?’

Ivor swallowed his mouthful. ‘Why tell Ted she’d had the baby aborted? Who knows why that man lies, what’s more, who cares?’

‘I do!’ snapped Matilda. ‘Someone needs to have a word with William and let him know we can see through his lies.’

Ivor dipped his spoon in the bowl of half-eaten stew. He knew he shouldn’t have let himself be swayed by the promise of his favourite dish. ‘What are you planning, woman?’

She drew herself up to her full height, all four foot ten inches of it. ‘Nobody else dares to stand up to that man, but he’s broken our Liv’s heart in more ways than one and it’s about time he was stopped.’

Ivor stirred his spoon round as he looked for the best bits. ‘It’ll end in tears, and they’ll likely be yours.’

‘That’s as maybe, but it’s about time this nonsense stopped.’ Getting up from her seat, she collected her coat, hat and scarf from the cloakroom.

‘How are you going to get there?’ said Ivor, hastily wiping his lips with his napkin.

‘Walk – it’ll only take me ten minutes or so – besides, it’ll give me a chance to gather my thoughts.’ Stepping back into the room, she picked up the diary and pushed it into her handbag. ‘Shan’t be long.’

‘Hold on, woman, I’ll come with you.’ Ivor pushed back his chair and was about to get to his feet when his wife’s hand landed on his shoulder.

‘No, you won’t. Ivor this is something I need to do on my own.’