Marnie’s life ran before her eyes, everything played the same way, but interpreted differently: every word; every kiss; every touch from her mother; every kindness from Alice; the photograph she’d found in her father’s chest of drawers of the girl on the carousel. The girl’s hair was fair, which was why she’d assumed it was Alice, but when John Morahan first met Denise Scott, she used to dye her hair too.

‘Marnie?’ Gabriel asked. ‘Are you all right?’

She passed the photograph back to him.

‘Who is she?’

Denise had been quiet all her life. She had kept her secrets. Marnie hadn’t uttered a word in decades. Now it was time to speak up. The Morahan women had been quiet for long enough.

‘She’s my mother.’

The words were misshapen; a jumble of sounds. Marnie clasped her hands in frustration. Gabriel said gently: ‘Try again.’

She took her time.

‘Mother,’ she said.

‘That girl is your mother?’

‘Yes!’

Gabriel picked up the envelope and read the words. ‘She was Alice’s mother too? Alice Lang’s mother? The girl we found?’

He held Marnie’s eyes. She felt empty; shaken. As if she’d been turned upside down and her history emptied from her. As if she’d been erased and would have to start again.

‘You didn’t know?’ Gabriel asked.

‘No.’

‘Then no wonder it’s such a shock!’

He came round the desk to stand beside Marnie. He turned the chair towards him.

‘Is it OK if I…’

She gave a small, awkward nod.

He put his arms around her. She, who was so rarely touched by anyone other than Lucy, stiffened at first, but then relaxed into his embrace. He held her and she was glad to be held; she needed to be anchored; she needed his touch. Without him, she felt as if she might drift away. The foundations on which her life had been built had turned to dust.

It was a shock, yes, but everything was becoming clear to her now. At last there was a reason for Denise’s sadness: her baby had been taken from her. And the things that Alice had told her, the things Alice had known about her, now, at last, Marnie understood.

‘You’re shaking,’ said Gabriel.

He pulled back a little and crouched so that his eyes were level with hers, ran one hand gently down the side of her face. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. She looked into his eyes, clear and honest eyes, concerned eyes, and she was grateful that he was there and that he was her friend.

She tried to speak but all she managed to make was a jumble of sounds and the effort was exhausting.

‘What is it?’ Gabriel asked, gentle as if he was tending something infinitely precious and fragile.

Marnie pointed to the baby in the photograph.

‘Alice was my sister!’