While Dad was held on remand we were sent back to school but whereas before we were treated with pity, now the other kids taunted us in the playground.

‘The Sinclair Sisters are so ugly their dad paid somebody to take them away.’

‘What do you do when you can’t pay your bills? Kidnap your daughters.’

‘What do you call a father who makes dreams come true? Father Christmas. What do you call a father who makes nightmares come true? Simon Sinclair.’

Whereas before life was difficult, now it was unbearable. Neighbours who had been leaving casseroles on our doorstep, cheesy lasagnes and thick vegetable soups, now crossed the road to avoid Mum. Dad may have been a monster but she was the one who had married him.

We didn’t go to the trial. Mum wanted to but the police told her it would give the impression that she was supporting him and there was enough speculation as it was. Some newspapers hinted she must have known something but, of course, she didn’t. None of us thought for a second he would be capable of staging the abduction of his daughters. It horrified not just our close-knit community but the country, then the world.

What did the media want us to share now that could be worse than that? Marie reconciling with him?

A new angle.

Suspicions creep from the corners of my mind where they stamp for attention in the centre of all other thoughts.

A new angle.

Marie couldn’t be the one sending letters for him, she wouldn’t.

Would she?

I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. And yet she’s seemingly vanished without a trace the day after he was released. When she was desperate for a story to sell.

I hurry to the back door to call Archie in. I’ll settle him with a sandwich in front of the TV and then I’ll phone Carly. See what she makes of it all. Hoping she’ll tell me I’m being ridiculous. Even if we were no longer close, Marie wouldn’t betray us.

A new angle.

I fling open the back door. Scream as I see them on the step immediately.

Oh God, no.

Mice.

Three dead mice laid out like an offering. Dark, empty spaces where their eyes should be.

Three blind mice.

‘Archie?’ I look wildly around my garden.

My empty garden.

I am falling. Hurtling through time and space. The past and present strobing. A searing pain in my head. My heart.

The gate is swinging open.

My parents’ gate.

My gate.

Bruno is missing.

Our new puppy is missing.

Archie, too. Missing.

Chapter Forty-Eight

Carly

One week ago

Carly was emotionally drained when she left Marie’s flat. As she drove home she couldn’t stop thinking about the offer of the TV interview. A new angle. Knowing that Marie must want Carly to stand up in front of the nation, in front of the world and take the blame caused something to shrivel inside her like a deflated balloon. Twenty years ago YouTube hadn’t existed. Neither had Facebook. It wasn’t until their book was published that the public felt they had access to the girls and they had lapped up the details like a thirsty dog.