Lloyd booted the door shut in Naomi and Morgan’s wake. He cocked the rifle on his arm as they froze, their expressions leaving him in no doubt that they knew far more than was good for them. He had no choice. This ended now. There was no going back.

‘Kitchen,’ he grunted, jerking the gun in their direction. He’d had so much to drink that he could barely remember loading it. He had stood in this exact same spot, ten years ago today.

From the moment he’d awoken this morning he’d had the creeping sensation that today things would come to a head. Many anniversaries had passed since the Harpers’ disappearance, but there was no room in Ivy Cottage for another family of three.

He knew the risks. Whatever happened, he would take his chances, because things couldn’t go on as they were. Petunia had been shooting her mouth off, despite his veiled threats. Then Dawn was heard warning Morgan in the coffee shop. He’d never reckoned on one of his own turning against them like that. Even his own wife was looking at him with the jaded expression of someone who was tired of cleaning up his mess. Yet, Joanne was here, just as before, ready to stand by him. He didn’t deserve her love or her loyalty, but he got it just the same. Having told him what was going on, she had taken a shortcut to the cottage and they had both lain in wait for Naomi and Morgan to return.

‘Sit.’

He nodded towards the dining room chairs he and Joanne had dragged to the centre of the kitchen floor. The kitchen may have been renovated, but it still carried the same bleak sense of despondency as before. Abandon hope all ye who enter here, Lloyd thought. Wasn’t that said to be the inscription above the gates of hell? If the cap fits . . . He watched the Ward woman wrap a protective arm around her stepdaughter.

‘My sister’s a Met police officer.’ She drew Morgan in behind her. ‘So I’d think very carefully about this if I were you.’

‘Do as he says.’ Stepping out of the shadows, Joanne flicked on the kitchen light. Dazzled by a dozen spotlights, Lloyd blinked to clear his vision before glancing at his wife. Her words were firm, but her face was gaunt as she approached.

From his peripheral vision, Lloyd caught Naomi eyeing the door.

‘Lloyd just wants to talk to you,’ Joanne continued. ‘He’s not going to hurt you.’

‘Like hell he’s not . . .’

Grabbing Morgan by the hand, Naomi made a break for the back door.

In one swift movement, Lloyd struck the butt of his rifle into Naomi’s stomach with full force. Doubling over, she moaned in agony, too winded to stand upright. One step towards a cowering Morgan was all that was needed for them both to comply.