All these years she had been living in a sort of fog of denial and now it seemed both ridiculous and terrible that she could have been such a fool. Why would he never have contacted her? Colin and he had a difficult relationship, sure. But why would he cruelly ignore her for so much time?

Could it be possible that she once had these three people in her life, who she loved more than anything, and now there was just her left?

Irene began to cry within deep within her stomach, pressing the back of her hand against the anguished square of her lips. It wasn’t so much that she had periods of crying now. More that the tears came and went for most of the day, and sometimes at night too. She was like a leaky vessel, endlessly being filled with wet sadness.

She had thought about going to church and seeking out Reverend Thomas. She always liked him but had long ago fallen out of the habit of church. She would have liked to know, though, how he might justify that she should be given such horrible luck by God. Would he tell her that Michael had committed a sin in taking his own life? She’d have liked to see him try.

Irene got up and walked into the conservatory, where rain was drumming against the ceiling with a hard, insistent beat. The leaves were beginning to turn on the beech tree at the end of the garden, a sight which normally filled her heart with pleasure.

She sighed and her gaze fell on the box she’d taken from Michael’s flat when Rowan had helped her with the terrible task of clearing it out. She hadn’t been able to stand the thought of going through it, but now she forced herself to pick it up and bring it to the table.

Inside, there were various papers, ranging from utility bills to a folder of neatly kept bank statements. It felt wrong to look at her son’s account, even in these circumstances, and she was surprised to find she wasn’t particularly curious. Who cared how he had spent his money?

As she lifted the next file – a collection of tax-related documents – two small passport-sized photos fell onto the table.

They seemed to have been cut from a strip of four. There was Liam, making faces at the camera, and someone who was quite clearly the younger version of that woman, Anastasia. She was laughing widely in one and in another pressing her lips against Liam’s cheek, while he grinned cheekily at the camera.

Irene stared at the photo of her gorgeous boy, her hand shaking.

That Anastasia woman was lying through her teeth.

SUMMER 2003

LIAM

Christina Aguilera is warbling away about being beautiful as they mooch about in Woolies. Anastasia pretends to sing along, making her eyes all googly to make him laugh.