‘Photos? Documents?’ I sneer. ‘Those things are easy to fake. Anyone can put together a few pictures and a baby book. It’s not like Photoshop doesn’t exist!’

‘They also said they were willing for you to have a DNA test to prove she’s not your daughter.’

I daren’t tell him that I’ve already sent off the samples. My shoulders slump. I’m suddenly exhausted. Defeated. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks – more because of Matt’s attitude than anything else. He doesn’t want to comfort me. He isn’t affected by my tears. Instead he’s shifting in his seat, looking at the door like he wants to escape. I can’t believe he would believe the Morrises over his own family. ‘Matt—’

I’m interrupted by the doorbell. Matt jumps to his feet.

‘Is that your mum with the kids? They can’t come in now. I’m a mess. You’re drunk.’

‘I’m not drunk. And it’s not my mum.’

‘It’s not the Morrises, is it?’ A wave of horror washes over me at the thought of having to have this conversation with them here and now while I’m so upset, while Matt so clearly isn’t on my side. ‘Don’t answer it. Please.’

But he already has his hand on the lounge door…

33

I debate whether to slip out the back door and drive away. Or go and hide upstairs in our room. If it’s the Morrises come over to have it out with me, I can’t face them. I really can’t.

Matt leaves the room, presumably to answer the door, but then he comes back in for a moment. He gives me an indecipherable look – somewhere between pity and… fear. ‘I’m sorry. Please believe me. I didn’t want to do this, but you’ve gone too far.’

My chest constricts at his words. ‘Do what? Matt, what are you talking about?’ The doorbell rings once again, accompanied by a sharp rap on the knocker. A chill descends on me as Matt actually starts to cry. What the hell? ‘Matt, what’s the matter? Who’s at the door? Matt, talk to me.’

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he takes a deep breath, wipes away his tears with his fingertips, squares his shoulders and strides down the hall. I follow him, my heart drumming, terrified that I’m on the verge of having an almighty argument with Kate and Shaun. An argument I simply don’t have the energy for right now.

‘Matthew Bernshaw?’ A woman’s voice. Not Kate’s. She’s wearing a long raincoat.

Over Matt’s shoulder, I also catch sight of the high-vis jacket and black hat of a police uniform.