‘It is.’ Catriona nods emphatically. ‘It is Grace. Don’t you tell me otherwise. Don’t you tell me that!’

‘Caty…’ Darren’s voices is trembling now. ‘Caty, I think you’re in shock. I think you might have done something terrible. And we have to put it right.’

Catriona’s ears twitch as she hears a soft crying from the back bedroom. She stands and turns away from Darren. ‘Gracie’s crying. Maybe she’s thirsty. I better go and see if—’

Darren leaps to his feet, grabs her arms and pulls her back. Turns her around to face him. ‘You never told me where she is. Where’s our daughter?’ Catriona turns to the window, staring out into the black night. There’s nothing to be seen but darkness, but the implication is clear. In case it isn’t, she manages to utter two words:

‘The churchyard.’

It was stupidly easy to find a small patch of soft ground hidden from view behind the old Elizabethan church. The weather was so vile out there that the grounds were deserted. At least she knows her child is buried in consecrated ground.

Darren stares in horror at her muddy clothes, not wanting to understand their significance. ‘Oh sweet Jesus. You… you…’ He points to her. ‘And Gracie is…’ He turns towards the dark pane of glass and convulses. Catriona thinks he’s going to vomit. But he swallows and coughs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. ‘I’m calling the police.’

22

Now

I’m helping out in the café kitchen today, making waffles for a table of office workers who’ve come in for an earlyish Christmas brunch. Work is both a blessing and a curse at the moment. It helps take my mind off all the stuff with the Morrises, but it also means I don’t have any time to devote to finding out about Bella. I’m here at the café, when I could be spending time working out what to do. Planning how to get that hard evidence I’m looking for. I have a few vague ideas of how to go about it, but they all seem a bit extreme. And I’m still too wary of going to the police.

If only Matt were more on board. I could really do with talking to him about this. Getting his opinion on the best way to go about things. Although really I already know his opinion – don’t do anything, apart from talk to Robin.

I plate up the waffles and start bringing them out to the office workers, who are already quite raucous despite the absence of alcohol. Dee and I had to push three tables together next to the window to accommodate them all, and Dee decorated their table with tinsel and crackers. We don’t normally have party bookings, and this has got her mind working overtime about how we can get more.