The mud exposed by the retreating tide was drying in the faint warmth of the late winter sun, a thin crust forming. Signs warned of the dangers of sinking sand, the water now so shallow that it hardly lapped at the estuary’s stony shelves. The tide was at its nadir, exposing acres of sand further out into the estuary and rocky outcrops, great fields of silt and mud miles long.

Will strode out, past Catbrain Point with the military lookout squat at its edge. Further on, the wind turbines and industrial chimneys and giant cranes of Bristol docks were growing clearer. The wind grew a little bolder, pushed at him. He walked on until he noticed that the tide had turned, creeping so discreetly that the only evidence was the shrinking silhouette of the exposed sand-hills in the centre of the estuary.

A message came in on his phone from Emily.

‘John Morahan, handyman, married Denise Scott, librarian, Bristol Register Office. Her father was Geoffrey, bookshop owner of Church Street, Brighton. Hope this helps.’

Oh, yes. That helped massively.

Will’s hunch had to be right. The pieces of the puzzle fitted. He was certain as he could be now that Denise had been Alice’s mother.

He’d walked further than he’d intended. He turned and followed the tide upstream, heading back towards Severn Sands. The water was deceptive; it travelled fast; faster than a person could run, or even than a horse could gallop for any length of time. It rushed back in over the mudflats, a plastic bottle on its surface spinning forwards, racing ahead of Will. The sea swallowed back the exposed sandbanks and, as it did so, clouds gathered over the water and eventually the Welsh coastline faded into a blur of mizzle. Will’s clothes were damp, his head was cold. Now he was walking into the wind, it was hard work. He didn’t mind the discomfort. He was enthused by what he now knew, energised by the story of Alice’s birth that he now had clear in his head.

By the time he came close enough to his starting point to make out the chimney pots on the roof of the caretaker’s cottage, rain was falling hard. He decided to shortcut across a depressed area of mud around a gulley rather than following the path over the slipway where the dress had been found. He jumped down into the gritty mud and tramped across it. As it sloped towards the gulley, Will stumbled over something that looked like a filthy lump of clothing. If he hadn’t tripped, he wouldn’t have noticed it, certainly wouldn’t have realised it was a living thing. Reluctantly, half-dreading what it might be, he turned to take a closer look.

56

Marnie spent the rest of the day searching for Luna, finding no sign of her.