‘What?’ Jumping to my feet I shove the case back under the bed and follow Amber out of the room.

‘They’re downstairs, they want to talk to you.’

Taking a deep breath, I drag my sleeve across my eyes. Amber puts her two hands around my shoulders and hugs me.

At the bottom of the stairs a woman and a man stand, nodding when they see me.

My arms are wrapped across my chest, my whole body shaking. ‘Tom’s not here.’

‘That’s okay, Sally, I was hoping to have a word with you.’

‘Sure, sure.’

Amber pushes open the door where the boys are watching TV. ‘I’ll mind the boys.’

‘Thanks, love.’

‘Will this take long? Do you want to go into the kitchen or—’

‘Yes, the kitchen will do fine.’

My blood pressure is shooting through the roof. What do they want with me?

‘Sally, my name is Detective Angela Burke. This is Detective Michael Dunne.’

I nod at them, my heart dancing in my chest.

‘Sally, can I ask when you found out about Kenny being Tom’s son?’

‘Eh… a few days ago, last week, I’m not sure what day it was.’

‘Okay, but you didn’t know before his mother was killed.’

‘No… well, yes, actually.’ What am I to say? There have been so many lies, I believe I must tell the truth. ‘The day before she was killed, I was shown a photograph of Tom with the boy.’ My breath is catching in my throat.

‘Oh… by…?’

‘I don’t know who by, some stranger in the salon, a young girl called Charlie.’ Burke looks at her partner then back to me.

‘That must have been a huge shock to your system.’

‘It was, but…’

‘The day Claire McCarthy was killed, Tom told us you were having a party. Did you leave the house at any time?’

Am I a suspect now? Does she think I left my kids’ party to go and kill that woman?

‘No, well, that morning I went to Tesco to pick up the cake but after that, no, I was here all the time.’ Michael Dunne is jotting down notes. ‘Why are you asking?’

‘I just need to know, Sally.’ What is she implying?

‘But why?’

‘Someone was seen crossing the fields from this estate to the victim’s estate around the time of the murder.’

I’m listening to her talk, and I know she’s not telling me everything.

‘Can you tell me which adults were at the party?’

‘What? Do you think someone from the party killed that woman… seriously?’ My look expresses how mad I think she is, coming up with that scenario but she doesn’t comment.

‘Names, please.’