‘We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want you to know,’ Mary says, her face red, features tight. ‘You see, we had a daughter of our own and her name was Charlotte. She was perfect. But she died when she was just six weeks old. And that’s why we adopted you. Or I should say, we abducted you.’

Robert realises there’s nothing more he can say or do so he just stands there, completely paralysed as his wife proceeds to get twenty-four years of guilt off her chest. The floodgates are open and she seems determined to crush Charlotte and destroy all of their lives by taking them back to that fateful day.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FOUR YEARS AGO

Mary doesn’t want to get up, but she knows she has to. She needs to check on the baby and start thinking about what to cook Robert for dinner.

She’s expecting him home about six, although there’s a good chance he’ll be late. He usually is on Fridays because Simon Roth, his boss at Oaktree Farm, likes to take him along on his weekly pheasant shoot. It’s always just the two of them and Robert carries the birds and the lunch box, and acts as beater.

Mary rolls on her side and peers at the clock on the bedside table, which shows it’s 1.10 p.m. It comes as a shock because it means she’s slept for almost three hours.

She wishes someone had warned her how hard it would be to cope with a newborn. She loves Charlotte to bits but she’s finding motherhood a real struggle. It doesn’t help that she misses being a nurse and the opportunities it gave her to meet people and escape the isolation that is the downside of living in such a remote location. Their house is between Kirkby Abbey and Oaktree Farm and the nearest neighbour is over a mile away.

It wouldn’t be so bad if Robert were more helpful, but he works a six-day week at the farm and is always knackered when he comes home.

She hauls herself up to a sitting position and looks across the room at the cot. Only then does it occur to her that Charlotte has missed a feed. She wonders if it’s because her little darling is in a real deep sleep or because she’s simply not hungry.

Mary can feel that her breasts are full and sees that milk has leaked onto her blouse.

‘Damn it,’ she says aloud as she swings her legs off the edge of the bed and stands up.

She pads barefoot across the room and leans over the cot. Charlotte is lying face down and looks to be warm and comfortable but when Mary reaches over and gently nudges her body in a bid to wake her, she suddenly realises that something is wrong.