‘When did he find out it was me?’ There is no point denying it. There have been enough lies.

‘Within a couple of days of being arrested. You can find out most things in prison. Criminals know other criminals. It only took a few packets of fags for him to find out your name.’

‘Why didn’t he tell the police it was me?’

‘Because… Because you’d have been arrested and… he felt he deserved it. All of it and worse. Like I said, he’s sorry.’

I can’t speak for a minute.

‘Mum?’ I ask. ‘Are you seeing him again? That day I came to your house… the steak? I thought I saw somebody inside.’

‘Yes. I am. I know you won’t approve or understand but we’re moving away. To Scotland. I don’t want you girls to have to worry about seeing him around.’

‘Again. You’re putting him before us again?’

‘Leah…’ Mum’s eyes glisten. ‘If you want me to stay, I’ll stay.’

I think about the unhappiness we have all suffered. The potential for happiness that is within her grasp. I don’t know if I will ever stop resenting her for what happened. If I stop her being with him – Simon – she might never stop resenting me.

‘Go,’ I give her my blessing.

She doesn’t speak but opens her arms and, although I hesitate, I step into them for the first time in years. It is both a hello and a goodbye.

She releases me. I blow my nose and dry my eyes as I watch her leave. She doesn’t look back.

On the way to the car I notice a shadow slip behind the trees. A halo of glossy blonde hair.

I think it’s Carly but I can’t be sure and by the time I get there, she is gone.

Chapter Eighty-One

Leah

Now

George rings the doorbell when he comes to see Archie, which feels odd. He still slots in here. The last puzzle piece of our beautiful, broken, healing family. Since I left Mulberry he has been renting a small place in town on a month-by-month basis. During our time apart I’ve been building on the work I started at the hospital. I’ve a new counsellor – a man this time – and slowly I’m learning to live again. I am choosing who I want to be and I want to be happy. I hope Carly is too, wherever she is.

I miss her.

She hasn’t been in touch, not once.

I think about her every single day.

These past few weeks George’s visits have stretched beyond the time Archie is tucked up in bed. Often, evenings find George sitting in one armchair, and me in the other. Steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits on the table between us, forming a barrier. At first we skirted around the real issues, clinging to the superficial that was less painful. Firing minor irritations across the room – the loo seat being left up, is it fair it’s always one person who empties the bin or does the shopping. We talked in circles – tag; you take the blame now – until one of us yawned and I’d show him to the door like the visitor he’d become, watching as he strode down the driveway, shoulders hunched, breath clouding from the mouth that hadn’t kissed me goodnight.