Gran doesn’t say anything. Her mouth a stubborn line.

‘Did Neil Lewisham find out about Daphne?’ probes DC Webb, to Gran, in her smooth, liquid voice. ‘That she was really Sheila?’

‘No,’ says Gran, looking up at the detectives and fiddling with the necklace at her throat. ‘He found out about Jean.’

38

Rose

April 1980

THE DAY BEFORE NEIL LEWISHAM TURNED UP ON OUR doorstep everything had been perfect.

Easter fell on the first weekend in April. We had a wonderful time celebrating it, just the three of us. Daphne boiled some eggs she’d been given at the farm and we sat at the kitchen table painting them, you giggling at the funny faces Daphne drew – she was surprisingly good. On Easter Sunday we hid little hollow chocolate eggs in the garden, the colourful foil wrappers glinting beneath the plants and bushes. It was a sunny but crisp day. I’ll never forget the delight in your eyes and your squeals of excitement as you hunted them out, Daphne and I standing by the back door of the cottage, proudly watching you.

Later that night, while you slept, Daphne and I sat up talking and drinking wine by the fire. And then she turned to me, her eyes huge in the firelight. ‘I – I want to say something to you, Rose. But I’m scared it will ruin our friendship.’

I moved closer to her. Hoping she would say everything I felt.

‘You could never tell me anything that would ruin our friendship,’ I said softly.

She took my hand and moved towards me so that our faces were mere inches apart. She brushed the hair tenderly away from my face. I leant towards her, my heart fluttering as her lips brushed mine and she pulled me close, kissing me deeply. She took my hand and led me upstairs to her bedroom where I stayed until the early hours of the morning, creeping back into my own bed so that you wouldn’t be alarmed when you came looking for me when you woke up.

I wish I’d drunk in every wonderful moment of that day, scrutinized each second under a magnifying glass: Daphne’s throaty laugh, your squeals of delight, the way the sun bounced off the little foiled eggs, the smell of chocolate and pollen on the breeze. I’d give anything to relive that day on a loop, over and over again.

Because the next day everything changed.

He arrived on Monday evening, just as I was putting you to bed.

I could hear voices in the hallway but they were muffled, although I was sure one of the voices was male. My heart began to beat faster. We never had callers. I finished tucking you up and closed your bedroom door behind me, sweat pooling under my armpits at the thought of who could be at the front door. Was it the man Daphne was so afraid of? Had he found us?