I hear a groan and a pale white arm emerges from under the grey woolly heap on the ground. I crouch and pull the blanket back. It’s her; she looks like her mother, like her father, too. Her lips are cracked and she blinks several times to adjust to the light.

‘Who are you?’ she whispers.

‘I’ve come to help you,’ I say, holding my hand out. A wave of emotion sweeps over me as I think about Rosa, and Felicity, and all those other girls I couldn’t help.

Her fingers are cold. I untie her wrists; she is unsteady but she hasn’t been hurt physically, from what I can see. I have no idea what my mother planned to do with her, or what she was thinking at all. I wonder how involved my mother was in all the awful things that happened to the girls before they died. I help her stand and we move towards the exit together. When we get to the front door my mother is standing there. I help Mandy rest against the wall and stand in front of her, my arm around her in case my mother tries to do anything stupid. I have no idea who she is, I never did. She is clearly capable of anything.

‘What are you going to do now? Call the police?’

‘I am.’

She lunges forward, quicker than I imagined she could move. She has a knife in her hand and she swipes it towards Mandy and me. As off-guard as she has caught me, I still manage to rush forward and knock her to the ground, where she lies, her initial burst of energy short-lived.

‘They will find out what you did,’ she says with a hint of venom in her voice.

‘Fine. Tell them what you have to tell them. I’m sick of running.’

I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial the police. I can’t live the rest of my life inside this awful lie. I know it will be terrible for Chris and the children if the truth comes out, but the alternative is to be this person for the rest of my days. I can’t do that.

‘Jasmine, please, don’t do this. I don’t have long left. I promise I won’t tell them anything about you, just let me go,’ she pleads, but her eyes are still dead. Her selfishness is even deeper than I thought it was.

‘Not my problem,’ I say as I hear the ring on the other end of the line. I’m really doing it. I wasn’t sure if I would.

My mother clutches at my ankle but I feel no sympathy for her at all; my sympathy goes to her victims.

I hear the voice prompt on the phone ‘Police please … yes … the missing girl from Sidmouth … Mandy Green, yes … I found her.’

Chapter Fifty-One