The atmosphere in the room seemed oppressive as Corinne’s hand moved quickly under the pillow and withdrew the wand of a pregnancy test wadded in tissue paper. There they were, the two pink lines, pulsing with their own importance.

Eva’s eyes remained fixed on her, desperate and staring.

‘What am I going to do?’ she asked. Her voice was very small.

‘Will you tell him? Ross?’

Eva shook her head miserably. ‘He won’t talk to me. He won’t even take any of my calls.’

From outside there came a small crash and then a wail rose up. Instantly, Eva turned to look. The small blue car lay on its side on the kerb, one wheel still gently spinning. The boy, swept up in his father’s arms, continued to wail but with less urgency now. Alerted by the cries, Becca had come out of the house, and they could hear her making soothing noises as Ross handed the little boy over, saying: ‘He’s grand, just a little knock.’ For a moment, both parents fussed over little Jo, pushing back the fringe of black hair, examining his forehead for a bruise. Becca kissed the boy, and Ross ran his hand down his wife’s back, a small gesture of affection. Eva shuddered.

‘He’ll never leave her,’ she said, her voice flat, but beneath the surface resignation, something wilder fought against it. A tightness in her stomach, she couldn’t wrench her eyes from them.

‘I can help you,’ Corinne whispered. She had come to stand next to Eva and reached now to take her hand.

‘How? How can you possibly help me?’

‘I know something we can do.’ When Eva looked at her, she saw a lunatic hope blooming in her eyes. ‘Will you trust me?’ Corinne asked, tightening her grasp so that Eva winced, startled, and said ‘Hey,’ withdrawing her hand, her attention suddenly sharpened, some of the old feelings of unease trickling back in.

Corinne started to explain, to apologize, rattling on quickly about how she could save Eva, but then the door opened and there was Beth, moon-faced with bewilderment, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

‘You have to pack,’ she told Corinne. ‘They’re calling your mother. You’re going home.’

30

There was a flight from Dublin to Tours the following Monday at lunchtime, and on Saturday morning, Abi went online and bought Corinne’s airline ticket. It calmed her a little, the prospect of the girl’s imminent departure, a return to some kind of normality. She was printing out the boarding pass when her phone rang, Irene Ferguson’s name appearing on the screen.

‘Abi, I need to talk to you,’ she said and instantly Abi picked up on the hushed urgency in Irene’s voice.

‘What’s the matter? Has something happened?’

‘It’s Callum. He’s missing.’

Abi put down the boarding pass and sat back in her office chair.