Steph swallowed. “It—it’s an address. Urge them to watch the place, keep their eyes on it. But don’t mention any connection with me.”

Emma blinked several more times. “I don’t know if I—”

“Please!” Steph interrupted before she could restrain herself. She’d hoped to keep her emotions in check, but now she sensed her desperation was striking a chord. Her neighbor stared at her for a long moment. Steph could hear that creaking sound again, the turning wheel, this time a haunting soundtrack.

“Can’t you give it to them yourself?” Emma said in a low voice.

“No . . . no.”

“They’ll ask me a load of questions.”

“Call the tip-line anonymously,” Steph said. “Just be sure they take it seriously. Say you saw a teenage girl in a navy Puffa jacket going into that house. I can’t risk them recognizing my voice.”

There was another pause. The wheel continued to rattle. Steph couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from and it was starting to get to her now, like it might actually be cogs inside her head. She rubbed the ends of Freya’s scarf, her comfort blanket. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to,” she said.

“What are you afraid of, Steph? Is it Paul?”

“What?”

“Are you scared of him?”

“No, of course not! I love him, that’s why I . . . why I can’t . . .”

“I want to help, but you have to tell me the whole story.”

“I’m not having an affair. It’s not that.” Steph felt another volley of fear. She stepped closer to grab her neighbor’s hand. Emma tensed but didn’t pull away. Her fingers felt as small-boned as Freya’s used to, in the days when Steph would grip her hand to cross the road or walk through the park. Even as a little girl, Freya had resisted Steph’s overprotectiveness. Perhaps she’d always sensed her mum’s subconscious fears, running deeper than regular parental anxiety.

Steph tried one last appeal, pushing the address into Emma’s palm. “Please. I know you understand what I’m going through. This could save my daughter.”

35.

EMMA

Emma closed the door behind Steph and leaned against it, expelling a long breath.

She unfurled the address in her clammy hand, and a crush of responsibility bore down on her. Should she carry out Steph’s request in the secretive way she wanted? Or go to the police and tell them everything, hand over the burden? Why did the thought of the latter make her hug the address protectively to her chest?

Maybe Steph wouldn’t have put so much faith in Emma if she knew she was hiding a mess of secrets and troubles too. Or maybe she’d chosen her for that very reason. A strange affinity seemed to be developing between them, impossible to walk away from.