Still, she couldn’t deny her interest was piqued. She was curious to see how her mother had fared since she had disappeared, and she would love to ask her how she could have dumped her two kids so unceremoniously without a second’s thought. Then why ask the road you know? She knew the answer to that question already. Cynthia had walked away because that is what she did; she made a mess and she ran from it as soon as it got out of hand. Her husband had killed himself and what had she done? Left her children to cope with the fallout.

‘Are you going to answer me, madam?’

Gabby was brought back to the present by her grandmother’s harsh words.

‘Am I talking to myself here or what?’ Mary was clearly irritated.

‘Sorry, Nana, I was miles away.’

Kissing her nana’s cheek, Gabby left the room and went to her bedroom. She sat on her bed and looked around. It was pretty enough; she liked the pale pinks and greens in the curtains and bedspread, the cream walls left unadorned – not a pop star or film star to be seen. She’d made it almost clinical, and she knew that was the result of years of being in her mother’s house where there was never any mess whatsoever. She could still hear her mother’s voice: ‘Do you know how much that wallpaper cost a roll? And you want to put fucking Sellotape on it!’ She had heard it many times, and it had always made her angry inside. Other girls had posters, pictures of ponies, whatever on their walls, but not her.

She pushed the thoughts from her mind; she was only thinking about her mother because the social worker had told her she wanted to see her. That was it. It was a natural reaction but, still, it was stirring up unpleasant memories.

Gabby looked in the small dressing-table mirror at herself, wondering what her mother would think of her now. At sixteen she was a beauty, or so everyone kept telling her. She was also the living image of Cynthia. She stared into her deep-blue eyes, framed by dark lashes, and looked at her mouth, the wide-lipped mouth that was so fashionable at the moment. She was prettier than most girls, and that wasn’t her being big-headed – it was a fact. Anyway, she knew that looks really meant nothing in the grand scheme of things – it was brains and contentment that mattered. And being loved.