“He’s making it up.” Eve stands up but the room turns and she sits again quickly. “They would have told me.”

“Poppy did tell me, today, in the police station.”

“Poppy?”

“I took her out of school. It turns out they’ve been giving him their stuff for a long time.”

“It’s not true; I’d have seen things disappear.”

“The girls dared each other to take more and more: jerseys, school uniforms, winter coats. Poppy said you never noticed.”

Clothes go missing sometimes, it’s impossible to keep track. When she can’t find something, it usually turns out to be at the dry cleaners or stuck behind a radiator, perhaps on the floor of the car. If it fails to reveal itself in time, she buys a replacement; it’s easier than hunting for hours.

“. . . as often as they could,” Eric is continuing. “They made sure it was when I was away from home so they wouldn’t be noticed.”

How is it possible that the girls spent so much time at Igor’s? She’d kept an eye on them from the kitchen window, watched them running in the garden, playing among the trees. Admittedly she’d gotten on with cooking, studying, and looking after Ash, but they were safe and happy in the woods, making dens. They told her that, didn’t they? They always came in for meals.

“They told him you were putting the clothes aside for charity anyway,” Eric tells her. “They begged him not to say anything or they’d get into trouble.” He picks up the framed photo. “They live in that trailer. His kids are the same ages as ours. They don’t have enough warm things to wear. It’s not surprising the girls wanted to help.”

“It sounds like he was manipulating them; he probably sold it all for cash.”

“Why is this so hard for you to understand?” Eric puts the photo down, his fists ball in his pockets. “Everything Igor says checks out with the police. It’s not very complicated. Our children have more clothes than they need so they gave some to Igor for his kids. They like him, he’s kind; he made them feel normal, like other kids.”

“It’s a pity we don’t live in a trailer.” She stands up. “Why don’t you buy one? We might all feel more normal then.” She can hardly believe she said that, a ridiculous, childish reply. It will infuriate him, but perhaps that’s what she wants. Perhaps she wants to make him shout at her so she can scream back; they could fight for once. Everything could come out: Ash’s death. Sorrel’s disappearance. The affair. He could yell that it’s all her fault. She would yell back about despair and loneliness, guilt and rage. She stares at him, panting slightly; the air seems to ring with all the words they haven’t said.

Eric follows her from the room into the hall. “Igor’s staying until Sorrel is found; he’s going to leave us after that, he’s decided.” He leans against the wall looking tired. “The important thing is he’s our friend and not a criminal.”