Franny cut in, ‘We’ve already gone through that, and I told you how I felt. What’s done is done.’

‘I know, and I’m grateful that you forgave me. I don’t deserve it, so if there is anything that you want to tell me, then you can. I’m hot-headed, we both know that, but we’re a strong team and I know we can get through anything as long as we’re truthful.’

Once again Franny’s smile was tight. ‘Where’s this coming from, Alf?’

Quickly glancing across to her, Alfie smiled before gazing back at the motorway. He knew that maybe he should mention the texts right now, especially as he was talking about being truthful, but each time he came to it – each time he was about to tell her about them – something held him back. ‘It’s not coming from anywhere. I just thought that everyone has their secrets.’

Franny, pale and feeling ill, stared back out of the window, her thoughts crossing from Mia to Bree to Shannon. She’d been trying to find Shannon since she’d seen her that day in the street. She’d asked around but nobody knew where she’d gone. With Charlie’s club closed she’d probably had to move on, find work elsewhere. Though in truth, she still would feel happier if she got to talk to her. ‘I don’t, Alf. I don’t have any secrets; maybe that’s just you.’

She glanced at him, giving another weak smile before the two of them fell silent again, retreating into their own thoughts.

An hour and a half later, the weather had got worse. A combination of heavy rain and sleet pelted down on the car as they drove through the centre of Doncaster, South Yorkshire.

It had been a while since Franny had been here, watching the races at the famous St Leger. But they had been happier times. With her father, with her uncle. Times where life seemed to be so much easier than it was now.

With a heavy heart, she watched as they drove along West Laith Gate, turning left into the busy Trafford Way. She supposed she should be pleased that Alfie was so on-board now, albeit she had to be careful, but she had a sinking feeling that since he’d seen the boy in the warehouse, this determination to find Barry was less about Mia and more about him and the young child. And as such she wanted to scream at him, wanted to let him know how much not knowing where Mia was, was slowly killing her.

Every day, every hour, every minute that passed felt like a painful, torturous eternity, but no matter how much she wanted to tell him, no matter how much she wanted to free herself of the burden, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.