Ashworth caught Vera looking surreptitiously at the kitchen clock. She was thinking of Connie Masters and her child, of time moving on. But hearing his boss speak to Veronica, you’d have thought she had all the time in the world.

‘The guardian woman encouraged you to think you could look after the baby yourself?’

‘Not even that. She asked if I was ready to sign the form. The form consenting to the adoption. When I hesitated, she talked through the options. If Matilda were fostered rather than adopted, she said there was a chance I could stay in touch with her, maintain contact. And maybe I could have her back one day.’

‘So you refused to sign the form. Bet your parents were delighted. Not!’

‘They were horrified and said it was the most selfish thing I’d ever done in my life.’ Veronica looked straight at Vera. ‘And they were right, of course. The family who were looking after Matilda couldn’t face the uncertainty of knowing whether or not they’d be able to adopt her. She was moved. When she was three and a half I signed the consent form, but by then it was too late. Adoption never happened for her. There was no stability throughout her childhood. That was all my fault.’

‘More likely the fault of that soft bloody social worker who talked you out of signing the consent form!’

Ashworth thought his boss was going to give them her usual rant about social workers, but she managed to restrain herself.

‘Matilda came on visits,’ Vera said. ‘During that time when you were making up your mind. She remembers.’

‘Does she?’ Veronica said, and Ashworth couldn’t tell if she was terrified or delighted by the information. ‘She was so young that I didn’t think she would. I remember every detail, of course. What she was wearing, what she said. She was so small. Very pretty. And good. An obedient little girl.’

Ashworth thought: So obedient that she went on to do whatever men told her to.

‘She told Jenny Lister about the visits to you,’ Vera went on. ‘But Jenny would have had access to the records anyway. She must have known you were Mattie’s natural mother.’

‘I hated thinking about that,’ Veronica said. ‘I kept expecting Jenny to say something. I thought she might tell Simon. He never knew he had a sister.’

‘Why would she have done that? Confidentiality was important to her.’ Vera paused for a moment, looking at the woman, seemed to give the question more significance than it deserved. ‘Did she tell you she planned to write a book?’

There was a silence. ‘Simon mentioned it one day,’ Veronica said at last. ‘Hannah had told him of her mother’s dream to tell her clients’ stories. As if that were a noble thing to do.’