‘Who?’

‘Oh, no one,’ I say, checking myself. ‘It doesn’t matter. Listen, thanks again, Isobel. You’ve been such a help. I’d better go and check on Joe now.’

I say goodbye and head back into the house. As I close the door I hear Isobel’s boots crunching on the gravel then the sound of the car engine starting up. In the living room I find Joe still playing with the animals, his head on the floor, eye level with the lions, tigers and elephants. I go over and sit down next to him.

‘Can I play too?’ I say, picking up a lion and attempting a feeble roar.

He shakes his head then grabs the lion from my hands.

‘Okay,’ I sigh. ‘Well, how about I make us some dinner. Isobel’s left us some lovely baked potatoes. You like them, don’t you?’

He ignores me and returns to his game. I sit for a few moments longer looking at the back of his head before eventually admitting defeat and heading into the kitchen.

The potatoes will take another forty minutes, according to Isobel, and with Joe playing happily next door I sit down at the table and pick up the bulky copy of the Sunday Times. Ripping off the cellophane cover, I skim over the latest Brexit developments, but as I turn the page I come face to face with a headline that makes my blood turn to ice.

HUNT CONTINUES FOR MISSING MOTHER AND SON

PART TWO

26

Grace

23 November 2004

Today I found out what real life feels like and it was magical, like some exciting new kingdom I’ve just been given the keys to. I want to hold on to this feeling for ever, the feeling of being a normal girl doing normal things. It all began this morning, when he had gone out to the woods. As soon as he was out of sight I sneaked out and went up to the village. I knew that he would go mental once he came back and saw I’d gone but I didn’t care. He gave up all rights over me when he did what he did in that room.

I will admit that it felt weird to be away from the house though and every few minutes, as I walked along the road that leads to the village, I stopped and looked behind me just to check it was still there. I saw the lake and the wooden boat he made for me when I was four years old. I saw the tarpaulin roof of the house wobbling in the wind. And those sights reassured me. Even with everything that’s happened I still can’t imagine any other home. So, yes, I could go to the village and defy him but I was always going to go back, not for him but for the house and all the things I loved.

It was easy to find her place. All I had to do was look for the church steeple. As I walked through the village I could see it sticking out above the tops of the little cottages like a big rocket. I kept my eyes fixed on that steeple because I could feel people staring at me and I wanted to block them out. I know what the people in this village think of me and him: the freak and his brown-skinned daughter, living in a broken-down old house, shooting animals and wearing strange clothes. I know that because I’d heard them when I was a kid. It was in the pub, the one I’m walking past now.