‘I’ve brought along some photos from inside the house,’ Tara told Evelyn. ‘Do you want those as well?’

She swiped through the photos on her phone, showing Evelyn each shot. The reporter made her pause on one of Bella’s drawings—a rainbow with a stick-figure fairy flying underneath.

‘My daughter loves rainbows and fairies too.’ Evelyn looked up to the ceiling and held a finger under each eye to stop the tears from falling. Then she called out to the crew: ‘Lizzie, can you come and fix my make-up please?’

Evelyn began the interview by asking what sort of games the children played together each Thursday.

‘Zoe loves doing dress-ups with Bella.’

The reporter held up her hand and Tara shut her mouth, wondering what she’d done wrong already. Her stomach was gurgling now. She hoped the microphones didn’t pick it up. What if she had to fart?

‘You don’t want to use Zoe’s name, do you?’ Evelyn said gently. ‘We can either beep out the name or you can use the phrase “my child”. What would you prefer?’

‘I’ll say “my child”—I’m sure I can remember that.’

Tara took a deep breath and patted her tummy. Suck it in, keep it in, don’t fart.

As the talk focused on the children, she started to relax. It’s just Evelyn and I chatting about playgroup. Forget about the camera. But don’t swear. Oh fuck-a-duck, what if this is a mistake? No, we need to get Bella back and for life to return to normal. Make Merrigang safe again.

‘Bella is a very happy child,’ Tara said. ‘Now that I know her history, I’m surprised.’

‘So, Lexie didn’t tell you about her past?’ the reporter asked.

‘No, she didn’t. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a playgroup but, basically, you share everything.’ Tara laughed. ‘If our poor husbands heard us talking, they would die! So we shared everything, but Lexie kept very quiet about her past.’

‘Did you guess that something traumatic had happened to her?’

‘Not at all. She came across as the perfect mother. Always well-dressed and on time. She’d bring biscuits to playgroup and make everyone tea and coffee, as though she was the hostess at a party. She made the rest of us feel bad.’

‘In what way?’

‘She was Little Miss Perfect. You know those mothers who do everything right? And they’re never stressed, never tired, never complain about anything. It’s exhausting being around them because you can’t live up to their high standards.’