‘I…’ I break off, not sure what to say. Part of me wants to tell Robin about Bella. Part of me is desperate to share the news with him. But only if he isn’t going to be cynical. And how can I possibly know that in advance? I gaze at an artfully placed fern in a wicker plant pot, wondering if it was Robin who designed this room or if he had help. I wonder if he’s married or has a partner, a family. There are no photos in here. Nothing personal. I’ll have to ask Matt.

‘Look, Rachel, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But remember that everything you say here is treated in the strictest confidence.’

I shift on the sofa and glance across at Robin, who’s giving me a gentle smile. It must take years of practise to perfect that particular smile, which contains just the right combination of encouragement and detachment. It’s like he’s conveying this aura of not being bothered either way, so that I’ll trust him. If he was too pushy, I’d run a mile. I imagine this is some kind of body-language, animal-instinct thing, like not looking directly at a bear. Maybe therapists learn it at counselling college. I decide to trust him.

‘Something did happen, actually.’

Robin waits for me to continue. To give him credit, he keeps his face blank and doesn’t appear remotely smug that I’ve started to open up.

‘A couple of weeks ago, a new family started at my daughter’s school.’ My heart starts beating in my ears as I’m transported back to the day I first met the Morrises. I can’t believe it was only two weeks ago. It feels as if this has been weighing on me for months. ‘I got talking to the mum, Kate Morris. She seemed really nice. But then when I saw her daughter…’ I take a breath and pick up my glass for another sip of water. Rain spatters against the window intermittently. The ceiling light flickers. ‘Her daughter is the spitting image of Holly. I don’t mean she bears a passing resemblance – I mean she looks identical.’

Robin nods thoughtfully. ‘So this girl brought back memories for you?’

‘More than just memories. It was like a punch in the stomach. The pain…’ My voice breaks and I have to take a few steadying breaths. I’m not sure I can go on.

‘And this is what prompted you to speak to Matt?’

I nod.

‘Remind me, how old was your daughter when she was taken?’

‘Two years and eight months.’ I can barely get the words out.

‘So this child you saw the other week was a similar age?’