‘And I’ve enough to have your son put away,’ he says. His beady black eyes penetrate mine; even in the relative dark they make me shudder. As though they’re looking straight into my soul.

Nick steps away from him, his arms hanging lose by his sides.

Damn. He’s going to give this man a chance to speak. A chance to open old wounds and pour salt in them.

‘Meaning what?’ Nick says. He looks from him to me. My heart breaks seeing his expression. I don’t want this. I never wanted this.

All these years of covering everything up – for the sake of my children – and here, in a cold, murky field, my lies are going to be uncovered.

Nothing will be the same after tonight.

Before another word is spoken, though, a dancing light comes into view.

Someone else is coming.

Chapter Ninety-One

Amber

Time stretches. I feel as though I’ve been sitting in the car waiting for Richard for an hour. It’s been a matter of minutes. Davina hasn’t spoken again; maybe she’s afraid she’ll dig herself into an even bigger hole – or, maybe she has nothing left to say on the matter. On her involvement. I glance in the rear-view mirror. See her blank face – the angry bruise on her cheek.

You don’t know someone’s life until you’ve walked in their shoes a while.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

‘No. I want to go back in time, do things differently,’ she says, without meeting my eyes in the mirror. I turn in my seat to face her again.

‘I’m sure you do.’ It’s all I can say for now. I’m angry, upset. Hurt. But deep down I know Davina didn’t want any of this.

‘What do you think they’re doing?’ she says.

‘I don’t know, but it’s been seven minutes now. I don’t like being kept out of the loop. It’s making me anxious.’

‘So you think Nick’s in trouble because a man who came looking for him earlier asked for you to set up a meeting?’

‘Yes – I know on the face of it that might not seem worrying to you, but there’s more to it. Far more.’

‘Like?’

I can’t believe Davina is still trying to weasel her way into this. Hasn’t she done enough damage? We’re stuck in this car together, though – and for some reason currently unfathomable to me, I want to talk to her – share my fear with her. I tell her what I know – or suspect, anyway – about this man who was so keen to talk to Nick.

‘I’m with Nick’s train of thought on this one,’ she says once I’ve finished my story.

‘Really? Why am I the only one who thinks he could be a danger?’