‘Look, get me a lawyer. Ralph Middleton. His number is online. He’s – Wait a fucking minute, I’ve not finished,’ he shrieks to – Theo assumes – someone behind him. ‘Look, son, I’ve got to go. My time’s up. Call him. Please.’

The line goes dead. Theo stares out of the rain-blurred windscreen onto the empty street. An image of his mother’s lovely face appears in his mind, so clear it’s like he saw her only yesterday. Why would his father want to kill her? Was she planning on leaving him? Had she found out about the sexual assault? Or the women in the folder? Or the bodies at Skelton Place? My God, he could have been killing for years. Theo feels as if he wants to throw up. He slams his palm against the steering wheel, a sharp pain searing through him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

And despite the loathing he feels for his dad, Theo can’t help the emotion that sits heavy on his chest, suffocating him until he’s forced to let it out in sobs. He sits there for a while, his forehead resting on the steering wheel of his cold little car, and lets the tears flow. He doesn’t really know who he’s crying for. Definitely not his father, who he hopes will rot in jail. Definitely for his mother, whose young life his dad had stolen, and partly for himself for being robbed of his lovely mum.

He sits back in his seat and wipes away his tears. His mobile is still in his lap and he sees there’s a text from Lorna, sent hours ago, which he’d never noticed as he’d been so busy at the restaurant. He presses the screen and it lights up, illuminating the inside of the car.

It simply says: It’s official. You’re my brother.

53

Saffy

I FOLLOW TOM INTO THE COTTAGE, STANDING ON THE threshold to shake out my umbrella. It’s cold and damp for June. From behind the hedge a man steps out and I exhale sharply, expecting it to be Davies, somehow released from police custody. But it’s just a pensioner walking past with his dog. When he notices me he tips his cap in greeting and I wave half-heartedly before turning and closing the door.