“We’ll be back at five,” Peggy called. “You put your feet up and don’t worry. I can handle him.”

Val cleaned the bathroom, scrubbing the ancient tiles till they were a much paler shade of beige than before, then she polished the fronts of the kitchen cupboards and mopped the wooden floor. What if Tony kidnapped Nicole and ran off with her? What if he hurt her? What if Nicole accidentally revealed their address? All kinds of things could go wrong. Her chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe, and she yanked at the neckline of her T-shirt, stretching the fabric. She hated to imagine Nicole in that house. She wasn’t safe there. Her daughter had long forgotten the knife rap on her knuckles, but Val knew that she herself never would, because that cracking sound of metal on bone had been the death knell for her marriage.

During the next couple of hours, the physical pain of missing Nicole was so great that it made her wonder yet again how her own mother had left her all those years ago.

Peggy pulled up at five minutes after five, honking cheerfully. Nicole seemed subdued when she emerged from the car, but cheered up immediately when Val said she could run across to Cheri’s yard, where she could see the tea party was still under way.

Peggy heaved an oversized shopping bag from the back seat and winked. “Wait till you see what I’ve got.”

“Did you find the probate?” Val breathed, following her upstairs.

“I told him I was going to the loo and sneaked into his study. I didn’t dare stop to look through all the papers in the drawer, so I just scooped up everything, then I hid my bag by the front door and grabbed it as we were leaving.” She opened the bag and tipped a huge pile onto Val’s table. “There you are.”

“Christ!” Val exclaimed, eyes wide. “He’ll be furious. You’d better warn Ken that he might pay you a visit.”

“Ken could take him anytime.” Peggy laughed. “Don’t worry about us.”

Val started to flick through the documents: valuations, legal letters, tax forms . . . It looked dull, but it was exactly what she needed. Several were in Russian. “Scott” was the surname her father had chosen when he moved to Australia, but she didn’t know his Russian name, and it was hard to tell from these papers.

“Thank you!” She hugged Peggy with feeling. “I owe you big time. If you ever need me to turn to crime to help you, just ask.”

After Peggy went home, Val shoved the papers to one side and heated a can of spaghetti for Nicole’s supper.

“How was your dad?” she asked as they ate. “Did he play with you?” He never used to, but she hoped that as a weekend dad he would make a bit more effort.