“Did you give her my number?” The directness of my question takes us both by surprise.

“No! Absolutely not. I would never—”

“Only I don’t understand how a reporter has found me after all this time. It seems rather a coincidence.”

“Lizzie, you have to believe me, I didn’t give her your number. I didn’t even know what it was until this morning, when you texted me.”

“She rang the landline.”

“Was it someone called Ruby Orchard?”

“Yes.”

“She found me, too. It’s because of this latest tragedy. Elodie Stevens.”

“I know.”

Catherine sighs. “I wasn’t going to speak to her, not after all the press intrusion we had before. That kind of thing puts you off reporters for life—they’re like vultures, some of them—but, well, Ruby sounded different. It’s a serious piece she’s putting together. I…I agreed to meet her.”

She takes a sip of her coffee. “I only intended to stay for one drink, but we really hit it off. It was only the next morning that I realized they’re all like that, aren’t they? Friendly. Chatty. It’s an art, getting a complete stranger to open up to you and drop their defenses.” She gives a rueful laugh. “I should have known better than to meet her in a wine bar. It had been a long day at work and, well, you know how it is.”

“So you told her you’d met up with me again.”

Now there’s no mistaking the color in her face and neck.

“It came out in conversation, yes, that you were the girlfriend of one of my colleagues.” Fiancée, I silently correct her. “I’m sorry, Lizzie. It was a stupid mistake to make. I guess a snippet like that’s all they need to ferret someone out. But honestly, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. As I said, it’s an interesting piece she’s planning. Not at all sensationalist. The way I see it, if her article helps to get the remaining open crossings closed or at the very least improves their safety, it’ll be a good thing, won’t it? So no other child will suffer the same fate as Alice and Elodie and all the others who’ve needlessly lost their lives in the past.”

“When you put it like that…” I say. But I know I’ll never speak to Ruby Orchard. I won’t speak to any reporter.

29

THEN: BEFORE

SATURDAY, JUNE 16, 2007

We wait till Catherine has left the house. Then we kneel on Alice’s bed, which is positioned under the window in her room, and, with our elbows on the sill, we watch as she walks up the street in her denim shorts and high heels, her tiny shoulder bag bouncing against her hip bone.