‘I would say, how could you be so cold and unfeeling? But actually it’s no surprise,’ continued Steph, rejection spurring her on. ‘It’s how you’ve always been – detached and devoid of empathy. You don’t get Sonia Lomas because you don’t get that real feeling of love and emotion.’ For a moment, Steph took comfort in the shocked and – dare she say? – hurt look on her mother’s face. It was a small victory; she’d actually broken through that hard exterior and the fault line had once again opened.

‘That’s not true.’ Wendy’s voice was low but forceful. ‘You have no idea how much I sacrificed for you or how much I …’ The sentence died on her lips.

‘Go on, say it … You can’t, can you? You’ve never been able to say you love me.’

Wendy jerked her head ever so slightly as if fending off a physical blow. ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ she said stiffly.

‘Yeah, well, you need to work on that.’ Steph grabbed her bag and marched out of the house. It wasn’t until she was driving away that she let the tears fall unchecked.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Conmere, Tuesday, 14 May, 6.20 a.m.

Steph woke the next morning before her alarm went off and let out a groan as she went to sit up. Her head was throbbing. She’d had an awful night’s sleep, her mind suddenly awake at midnight, wanting to replay the unnerving events of the last couple of days. Car accidents, broken glass, the Sinclair family, the notebook and images of Elizabeth and Wendy all mingled with each other and made no sense whatsoever. It was certainly a reflection of her state of mind, she thought, tentatively standing up. She was bound to have some paracetamol or suchlike in her bag and hoped it would do the job of shifting her headache. It was a shame she didn’t have anything that would shift the anxiety that had pitched up in her stomach last night.

She felt a pang of guilt as she remembered her parting words to her mum yesterday. Steph should have kept her mouth shut; there was no taking them back now, she thought as the image of Wendy’s hurt expression hovered in front of her. Steph had been hurt and she’d made sure Wendy felt the pain too.

Swallowing down the two tablets with a glass of water, Steph sat on the edge of the bed and allowed her mind to gently sift through what she knew, or didn’t know, about Elizabeth and what had happened then and now. She was still missing pieces of the puzzle. She had lots of clues but no way of fitting them together to see the big picture.