‘Well, I suppose that helps somewhat,’ Beatriz agreed. ‘Because I‘m afraid to say that the story leading up to your adoption is not a pretty one. It‘s a dreadful thing for a mother to admit that she struggled to like her own child, but I‘m sad to tell you that is how I came to feel about Cristina, your mother. Forgive me, Maia, the last thing I want to do is to cause you further grief. But you are obviously an intelligent woman and it would be wrong for me to throw you platitudes and lies. You would see through them, I‘m sure. But you must remember that, just as parents can‘t choose their children, neither can children choose their parents.’

Understanding what Beatriz was trying to tell me, I wavered for a few moments, wondering if it was best, after all, if I didn‘t know. But I‘d come this far, and perhaps, for Beatriz‘s own sake, she should be allowed to explain. I took a deep breath. ‘Why don‘t you tell me about Cristina?’ I said quietly.

Beatriz saw I‘d made my decision. ‘Very well. Yara says she‘s told you already about my life, so you will have heard that my husband – your grandfather – and I were very happily married. And the icing on our cake was when we discovered I was pregnant. Our first son died a few weeks after he was born, so when I finally gave birth to Cristina a few years later, she was even more precious to us.’

I took a deep breath, my thoughts flying momentarily to my own lost son.

‘And after the experiences of my own childhood,’ Beatriz continued, ‘I was determined to make sure that my baby would be brought up with as much love as I and her father could give her. But to be blunt, Maia, Cristina was difficult from the day she was born. She rarely slept through the night, and by the time she was a toddler she had become prone to huge tantrums which would sometimes last for hours without abating. When she went to school, she was constantly in trouble, her teachers sending letters home saying she had bullied this girl or that and reduced them to tears. It‘s a terrible thing to admit’ – Beatriz‘s voice was quavering now at obviously painful memories – ‘but Cristina seemed to have no compunction about hurting people, no remorse at all after the act.’ She looked up at me, her eyes full of agony. ‘Maia, my dear, please tell me if you wish me to stop.’

‘No, keep going,’ I encouraged numbly.

‘And of course, her teenage years were the worst. Her father and I despaired of her total lack of respect for authority, whether it was us or anyone else who had dealings with her. The tragedy of it all was that she was extremely bright, as her teachers never stopped reminding us. Her IQ had been tested when she was younger and it was far above average. In the past few years, as mental health issues have been investigated more thoroughly, I‘ve read articles about a syndrome called Asperger‘s. Have you heard of it?’ she asked me.