‘That Patrick was like a ghost in their lives. Nothing of him remains. Veronica threw away all his toys and his clothes, and they hardly ever mentioned his name after the accident. Simon said that sometimes he felt as if Patrick had never existed, that he’d created the whole incident in his imagination.’

‘Would your mother have been working as a social worker then?’ Ashworth felt as if he was groping towards a connection, an explanation.

‘I suppose so.’ Hannah looked up sharply. ‘Do you think she worked with the Eliot family after the tragedy? I suppose she would have qualified by then, and we’d be living here.’

‘It just crossed my mind,’ Joe said. ‘But that would be too much of a coincidence. Your mother would surely have remembered the case, happening so close to home. She would have mentioned it.’

‘Oh, I don’t think she would.’ Hannah was quite certain. ‘She had a thing about confidentiality. She said work had to stay in the office, where it belonged.’ She leaned the empty wheelbarrow against the wall. ‘Look, I probably won’t do any more of this now. Do you want some tea?’

‘Does Simon feel responsible for his brother’s death?’

She’d already started walking towards the back door of the house, and his question made her stop in her tracks.

‘Of course.’ She pulled out the band that was tying up her hair and shook it loose. ‘It’s made him the person he is.’

Chapter Thirty-Two

Vera wanted to talk to Michael Morgan. She’d never admit it to Joe Ashworth, but she’d seriously cocked up that last meeting when they’d barged into the flat. Something about the man – his ease with his body, his assumption of superiority – had got under her skin and made her lose the plot. He was into mind-games. That was how he made his living. He depended on the gullibility of his clients. This time she’d be calm. She’d take him through the facts, box him into a corner.

She met Joe in the cafe in Tynemouth where they’d taken Freya. He was already waiting for her, jotting notes in his Filofax, frowning a bit like a schoolboy doing difficult homework. Vera ordered coffee and a slab of chocolate cake. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast in Barnard Bridge.

‘How did you get on at the Shaw house?’

‘Danny was in the Willows the morning Jenny Lister died.’

‘Was he now?’ Vera wasn’t sure if this was good news or if it just complicated matters. ‘So he might have seen what happened, even if he wasn’t implicated himself.’

‘I asked Shaw about Greenhough.’

‘And?’ Vera looked up sharply from her cake. Something about that place still haunted her.

‘Christopher Eliot came close to selling it for development, but the deal fell through in the end. I had the impression that Veronica vetoed it.’