Chris had realized then that Freya already suspected her mum of some kind of duplicity. Did that explain her recent personality transformation? The blackmailing, the anger? Suddenly he’d noticed Freya veering toward the slip road, too, and he’d had to slam on his own pedals to stop her. “The Woman” had told him not to let Freya trail Steph to her destination, only glimpse her somewhere unexplained. Chris would never forget the determination in Freya’s posture, her torso slanting forward, fingers bone-white on the wheel. She’d been desperate to know where her mother was going, and now that desperation seemed crushingly sad. He couldn’t believe he’d colluded with a stranger to prey on it.

They should have stopped it there. Should have been satisfied that they’d upset the equilibrium of the Harlow family enough. But the woman on the phone never seemed satisfied.

And him? Was it the offer of more money? Had he wrecked lives for the sake of a few hundred pounds? Or had there been something addictive about the scheme once they’d started? Had it made him feel like he was taking back some power?

64.

STEPH

Steph pressed again with the blade, hard as she dared without splitting the skin over Becca’s collarbone. This was the person who’d shown her how to do a French plait, told her what it was like to kiss a boy, comforted her when she’d been sad. The person whom Steph had looked after during seizures, who had always protected her in return. Now Steph was holding a knife to her throat.

“Keep going,” she said.

She had to hear it all, no matter how much it hurt. The guilt felt physical, piling on top of her. And a new horror was seeping in, now that Becca had revealed she’d paid Chris Watson to help her. Becca’s only source of cash was Steph. Had her own money funded this? Her mind raced over all those times Becca had asked her for a little extra to buy chocolate or beers, things to brighten her isolated days and nights.

Becca could hardly speak through her tears. “A couple of times we were able to fix it so Freya saw you on your way to visit me. We hoped if she kept spotting you in places you shouldn’t be, she’d think you were having an affair or something. And, as it turned out, she’d already got suspicions . . .”

The guilt hammered down harder. How could Steph have thought that her secrets would have no impact on her family? That she could live a double life without them ever sensing something amiss?