‘Good. You should go sometime. Poland is beautiful.’ She stared into his eyes and smiled. She’d read once, many years ago, that his eye condition – central heterochromia – was often genetic. She would dream, back then, when she first learnt from Felix that they were adopted, that their real parents were out there somewhere searching for them, and one day their mystery mother or father or both would spot Hugh somewhere because of his eyes, and they would know it was their lost son, and they would scoop her and Hugh up and take them far away from Flynn House, far away from Felix. But it had never happened. And now it didn’t matter anymore. In fact, she didn’t care who her real parents were. She would turn her back if they ever appeared. Maybe even kill them for putting her and Hugh through such pain.

Hugh carried the tray of three mugs and the tin of cakes through to the lounge. Pippa had decorated the room in eye-dazzling colours, made cushions and curtains from zingy fabrics. Books were squashed onto bookshelves. Cute ornaments crammed on surfaces. It was ablaze with cheerfulness. It made Verity’s head hurt.

‘Let me show you the baby’s room.’ He put down the tray, and headed up the stairs. Verity followed, trying not to show her reluctance.

It was painted pastel lemon. ‘We don’t know if it’s a boy or girl,’ Hugh said, his eyes bright. ‘I picked up the cot and rocking chair from an antique shop in Dunwold, and Pippa painted them white, and etched them with the lemon roses.’ He sounded so proud – excited.

‘It’s a lovely room, Hugh,’ she said, turning and heading back downstairs.

The whole house oozed optimism and exuberance.

Hugh followed her down. And once in the lounge, mugs in hands, they stood at the window. Pippa was rubbing the base of her back. She was big now, the curve of her belly like a balloon waiting to burst, overdue by a week. Pregnancy suited her – made her even more beautiful. Verity envied her for that. Why couldn’t the woman throw up every morning, and look a complete wreck? ‘There’s something I need to tell you, Hugh,’ Verity began, but his eyes were narrowing as he looked out, his cheeks flushing. Verity moved her gaze to the window. Pippa’s face had morphed into a grim stare. Within moments, she was doubled over, crying out in pain. Hugh dropped his mug to the floor with a thud, coffee splattering the wall. He pushed past Verity, almost knocking her over, as he raced for the front door.

Verity watched through the window, as her brother’s long limbs took him across the lawn towards his soul mate. By the time he was by her side, Pippa was on her knees, crying out.