Marina takes her thoughts to a nearby cafe – a dreary place with grey-looking walls and sticky tables. She orders coffee and then uses the payphone at the counter. She calls Ruth, who answers quickly.

‘Marina,’ she exclaims. ‘I’ve just this minute put down the phone to Aunt Lydia. Tell me your ears were burning.’

‘My ears were burning. What did you say about me?’

‘I said you were finding your fortune in London.’

‘Like Dick Whittington.’

‘Exactly.’ There is a pause. She speaks more seriously. ‘So, how are things?’

‘They’re good.’ Marina transfers the receiver to the other ear. ‘How’s Aunt Lydia?’

‘Fine. She’s thinking of going on a cruise. How odd is that?’

‘Did you say that to her?’

‘Yes, I did. I said organised holidays are for lazy people.’

Marina laughs. Lydia is Ruth’s sister and the two of them are like chalk and cheese.

‘How’s the house?’

‘It’s . . .’ Marina stops. Disturbing, uncomfortable? Oddly like home?

‘It must be strange,’ says Ruth carefully.

‘I suppose it is.’

There is a silence. Marina can hear Ruth breathing on the end of the line. ‘Have you seen Sofía?’

‘Yes, actually.’ Pause. ‘That’s why I’m calling. I wanted to ask you about something she said.’

‘Right.’ Again, that cautious note.

‘She mentioned a woman who turned up unannounced at the ward they put me in. She said the incident was noted, but never followed up. The thing is this woman was there again on the day that my foster parents took me away.’

Ruth clears her throat. She speaks slowly, spacing out her words. ‘Sofía never mentioned it.’

Marina senses a but coming. She leans with her back against the counter. A couple are seated by the window. The woman is heavily pregnant. Marina pushes the receiver against her ear and looks away.

‘But . . .’ Ruth stops and Marina pictures her, fiddling with the beads around her neck. ‘There was an occasion when something similar happened.’

Marina straightens. ‘What was that?’

‘I never mentioned it before because I thought it was a flight of fancy. I was nervous, jumpy. We’d only had you for a few months . . .’

‘Yeah. Go on.’

‘It was at your christening. I hadn’t wanted one, as you know. Your dad persuaded me and I agreed on condition we also had a naming ceremony.’

Marina has photos of both occasions. A vicar, a church, a font. A marquee in a field near Stonehenge.

‘Like I said, I was nervous.’

‘But why?’

‘I suppose I thought that someone would suddenly appear and accuse us of kidnap.’ Ruth gives a laugh. ‘Silly, I know. We’d done everything correctly, gone through all the checks, signed the right papers, but still, it was early days.’

Marina is quiet, listening.