It was as if Sheila hadn’t heard her. ‘And of course he believed her. Why wouldn’t he? Perhaps he was even relieved. Perhaps it was for the best. Jeannie told him she wanted no more contact. That she was too heartbroken. He was surely relieved about that, too. He would never have to tell his wife about any of it, would he? The wife that he’d told, every single day of their marriage, that he loved.

‘But guilt is the strongest of emotions, isn’t it, Eliza? You might be too young to realise that yet. Guilt and love. Because Hugh did love me. I know it. And I loved him. The day we heard he had stage-four cancer was one of the worst days of my life. But we had warning, at least. Time to talk. To grow even closer. Look back over our lives together. Talk so honestly. He needed to salve his conscience, I suppose. Seek forgiveness. That’s the only reason I can think of to explain why he did what he did. Why he decided one night, a month before he died, that I needed to hear everything. All of it.’

Eliza could barely breathe.

Sheila was looking right at her now. ‘So you can see why I might have been surprised to meet you last night. Why I might have appeared shocked. Why would someone turn up here all these years later, impersonating a dead child? But then I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Because I recognised you. Not just your height, but your gestures. The way you smiled. I could see instantly you were Hugh’s daughter. I can see it even more clearly now.’

Eliza’s hands were now trembling. She couldn’t seem to stop it.

‘He asked me to forgive him. Over and again. He cried in my arms. He said he couldn’t go to his grave keeping so huge a secret from me. That the guilt was killing him as much as the cancer. And I told him I forgave him, because how could I not? My darling husband, who was dying, who was already skin and bones. He told me it had tormented him for years. That he knew it would hurt me, and oh, he was right: it hurt so much. So I lied, Eliza. I lied, there by his deathbed. I told him that of course I forgave him. I lied, and I lied and I lied.

‘And it helped him. He changed instantly, I could see that. He became’ – she searched for the words – ‘lighter of spirit. As if some grace had come over him. Relief. As if there were no barriers any more, as if we now knew each other inside out, right to the end. As if he hadn’t just ruined my life.’

‘When did he die?’ Eliza spoke, finally. She couldn’t say his name.