‘You should speak to someone, you both should.’ I’d tried to get them to see my last therapist. Francesca. I had connected with her in a way I hadn’t with those who had come before her. She seemed to genuinely care, spending more time with me than she was obliged to, making sure she understood our family’s dynamics. She even helped explain to George what was happening mentally to me a few years ago and because of this he tried his best to support me through it. Love me through it. Of course I didn’t tell her everything, I’ve never told anyone everything. I haven’t seen her for months but I know what she would advise us to do right now. ‘Francesca says—’

‘No offence, Leah,’ Carly says. ‘But we’re indoors and you’re wearing gloves. I love you but you’re the least sorted of us all.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you, either of you,’ Marie says. ‘I thought it might help. Really. Not just sharing what happened but talking about how we’ve felt, I suppose, since.’

‘We can do that without an audience,’ I say.

‘I guess,’ Marie says. ‘It’s just that with an interviewer present I thought we’d all be more… in control of our feelings, I suppose.’

‘Feelings. Everyone’s obsessed with feelings,’ Carly says. ‘I was coming out of Tesco’s last week when a journalist showed me a picture of the grave and asked me how I felt about it now. I told them I felt nothing. Nothing. I wish now I’d told them I felt glad.’

I tell Carly that I was shown the same photo too. The cemetery where one of our abductors was laid to rest. His plot a tangle of weeds. Unkept and unloved. No flowers, no sense that anyone ever visits. They probably don’t. I don’t say that, unlike her, I felt something when I saw it. In fact, I felt everything: sadness, remorse, anger, regret and relief. I had felt relief that he, at least, couldn’t hurt anyone again. But he hadn’t acted alone.

Our rare openness of a few moments ago vanishes. The air chills and I know we are all thinking the same thing.

‘He’s due out of prison again next year.’ Carly doesn’t speak his name. None of us do. I’ve tried but the letters twist and tangle and form a ball in my throat.

Him.

The air chills.

‘Let’s talk about something else.’ Carly lifts her mug and gulps coffee that must be cold. ‘Tell us how Archie got on with his first swimming lesson, Leah.’

‘Oh God.’ My cheeks colour thinking about it. ‘The instructor sat the kids down before they even got wet and asked them the things people worry about when they go swimming so he could set their minds at rest. One little girl said she worries she’ll swallow some water. Another that the pool would be too deep and she wouldn’t be able to touch the bottom. Archie said… no. Archie shouted, “My mummy worries about wearing a costume because her bum is wobbly and her legs look like orange peel.” Honestly…’ I shove Carly. ‘Shut up. It wasn’t funny. Everyone stared at me.’