‘I suppose,’ says Lorna, a flicker of hope igniting inside her, although she’s trying to douse it. She doesn’t want to be disappointed.

DS Barnes leaves at the same time Tom returns from his walk with Snowy. It’s dark now and it’s begun to rain. Snowy’s fur is furrowed around his face, like wrinkles. Lorna watches as Saffy embraces Tom, burying her head in his chest as though she’s trying to erase the last few hours from her mind.

‘So,’ says Tom, walking into the living room, ‘what did the police say?’

‘They’ve already taken Mum’s DNA because of Theo,’ says Saffy, bestowing on Lorna a watery smile. ‘So they’ll take DNA from the body to see if it’s a close enough match to Mum’s . . .’ She moves away from Tom to stand by the fireplace. Lorna is worried about her. All this can’t be good for the baby.

Tom slumps onto the sofa and scratches his head. ‘Shit, this is just . . . shit.’

‘I know,’ Saffy says, joining him. She glances at Lorna, her eyes shining. ‘But even if Gran isn’t really my genetic grandmother,’ she clutches her heart, ‘I still love her. Is that wrong?’

‘Of course not, sweetheart,’ says Lorna, fighting back tears. She sits on the other side of her daughter and pulls her into a hug. ‘I don’t really remember my real mother at all. Just images and only since being here. It’s more of a feeling somehow. Like grief. And I wonder . . .’ she blinks back tears – she can’t cry now ‘. . . if maybe it’s the memory of grieving for my real mum. Who knows? All I remember is her . . . Daphne.’

‘You were so young, Mum. Not even three. I need to go and see Gran tomorrow. Will you come with me?’ she asks, looking up at Lorna with her big, dark eyes, reminding her of the little girl she once was.

‘Of course. But, honey, don’t expect any answers.’

When they reach Elm Brook the next day, they are told that Rose is deteriorating and is in bed. Saffy sits on one side of her, Lorna the other, and they watch as she sleeps, her eyelids flickering, as though she’s in a dream. Another world where she’s Daphne Hartall, perhaps.

‘She looks so small,’ whispers Lorna. ‘Every time I see her she looks smaller. And if she is Daphne Hartall – Jean Burdon – then she’d be nearly eighty.’

Saffy doesn’t say anything. Instead she stares down at the woman she’s known all these years as Gran. Lorna watches as Saffy reaches over and takes her gran’s hand. She feels conflicted: this woman is no relation to them at all, yet she’s the only mother she’s ever known. The only grandmother that Saffy has ever known, and their bond is still there, still so visible.