Maisie laughed. ‘You and Sid can trade on the dead-son thing all you want. Sid can kill himself and you can live in a tin can, for all I care, but don’t try to sell me your psycho-bullshit about age and whatever other shite you’ve been telling yourself all these years. You have a boy who is alive. He still loves you and misses you and needs you. You should want to be there for him, not just now but until you die. That’s what being a mother is.’

‘I’d forgotten how much you bang on, Maisie.’

Fred stood up but Maisie grabbed his hand and pulled him back into his chair.

‘You can look down on me, Carina – be my guest, the whole fuckin’ country’s doing that – but the only thing that matters is bringing my son home and I’ll move fuckin’ hell and high water to do it.’

‘Do you talk to God with that dirty mouth, Maisie?’

‘Oh, I do – and you know what I say to him? I tell Him if Heaven is reserved for pious, cruel, selfish, heartless arseholes like you, He can keep it.’

‘Always such a beautiful way with words, Maisie. Are we done now?’ Carina said.

Maisie wasn’t done: she was there to plead Rave’s case. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please, Carina or Marianne or whoever you are now, please, I am begging you to just come to the press conference and tell your son that you love him and ask him to come home.’

‘And then?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Move back into that hellhole with Sid the junkie? Make lunches and pack schoolbags? Is that what you want?’

Maisie was so taken aback that she almost cried. She remembered Rave’s words: ‘I know she loves me. She’s always sendin’ me birthday cards.’

‘I want you to love him. He’s lovely. He’s kind and sweet and really smart, and he looks just like you.’

Carina’s carefully constructed façade cracked. Tears crept into her eyes.

Is that some human emotion?

She bowed her head. ‘He sounds like a nice boy, Maisie, and I wish him well. You should know that me staying here and dedicating my life to prayer is the best thing I can do for my son.’ When she looked up she was smiling and her hands were knotted in a prayerful pose.

Maisie looked at Fred, who shook his head. ‘OK, I tried. I’m done. Let’s go.’ They stood up. Carina remained in her chair. ‘Prayer doesn’t feed, clothe or keep him warm. It doesn’t love him or protect him, but you keep praying because you’re right about one thing. He is better off without you.’

Carina didn’t respond.