And relief. She felt relief that George had ultimately said yes. That he was going to help her.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Leah

Now

The air stills around me, the hum of the fridge fades while I try and process what Graham has told me. Is Marie with our dad and if so why?

That day – all those years ago when the police had turned up on the doorstep – hadn’t seemed unusual. We were used to them dropping in. We knew they’d caught Moustache for armed robbery and that he was in hospital.

‘Come in.’ Mum gestured them inside. In the kitchen she wiped her hands on her apron and asked, ‘Sorry, I was just serving up dinner. Do you want tea? Coffee?’

‘No, thank you, Mrs Sinclair.’

Dad, Marie, Carly and I were sat around the table. Five plates rested on the worktop, a mound of steaming mashed potato on each. Under the grill, sausages hissed and spat while peas in boiling water bubbled on the hob.

We waited.

Worriedly, I glanced at Carly. She was so pale, her lips devoid of colour.

‘Has he… Moustache. Has he escaped?’ she whispered.

‘No. Goodness. No.’ Graham looked at us sadly. He’d become close to our family. ‘But he has told us that when he took you girls he was acting on instructions. Simon Sinclair…’ Graham approached the table. ‘I’m arresting you for—’

Mum screamed over and over. Dad stood, his chair falling loudly onto its side. He slammed his palms on the table, eyes darting left and right. Towards the door. He ran. Graham grabbed his arms, clicked on handcuffs. Mum shouted, ‘They must have made a mistake—’ Carly wrapped her arms around Marie and I. Shuffling together – an awkward centipede – down the hallway as Dad was dragged, struggling to be free, all the way to the front door.

My sisters and I stood disbelieving on the doorstep as Dad was put in the police car, protesting his innocence. Mum’s legs crumpled as she covered her face. ‘I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it.’

Again, the reporters returned to our street.

Again, we were prisoners in our own home.

‘It’s a mistake,’ Mum told us. ‘There’s no proof.’

But there was. Dad had been seen with Moustache and Doc. His fingerprints were in their car. He’d withdrawn a large amount of cash the day before Moustache deposited it in his account. The police found a list among Moustache’s possessions of things we liked to eat and drink, it was written in Dad’s handwriting.

Mum visited him. When she came out her nose was pink, eyes red.

‘He’s pleading guilty.’

‘But… why?’ Still none of us could believe it. None of us wanted to believe it, I suppose.

‘Because he did it. He thought that financially it was the right thing to do. I don’t think he thought it would have a permanent effect on you. Children are supposed to be resilient.’ She sounded almost resentful as she said this, but as she spoke she tugged off her wedding ring and never spoke his name again.