As the guard led him away, her father twisted so she could see his face. ‘There’s one way to know for sure,’ he called over his shoulder.

‘What is it?’ Heather asked.

‘Provoke him.’

And then the heavy door slammed shut between them.

43

RACHEL

I know who Pamela Aston is. I used to be married to her husband Stephen.

Rachel was making brownies when she saw the name Fiona Arthur appear on her phone’s screen. Even then, it took a few minutes for her to absorb it. It had been a few weeks since she’d reached out to the three Fiona Arthurs via Facebook, and she’d all but given up hope of ever hearing anything more than: Sorry, I think you have the wrong person.

Now, she picked up the phone and read the message again.

I used to be married to her husband Stephen.

Immediately Rachel recalled her conversation with her mother. Wasn’t that what she’d said? That Dad used to be married to a woman called Fiona Arthur? But if that was the case, why hadn’t Dad ever mentioned it?

It didn’t make sense. They weren’t exactly a conservative family; Rachel and Tully would have coped with an ex-wife. Lots of Mum and Dad’s friends had divorced and remarried – heck, Rachel’s schoolfriend Georgia’s parents had divorced, married other people and then got back together. Mum and Dad had laughed about that (most people did, including Georgia’s parents). So why would Dad hide Fiona’s very existence?

Meeting in person had been Rachel’s idea. After going back and forth via Facebook Messenger and getting only one-or two-word responses, Rachel had decided that this wasn’t going to be the best forum for getting the information she needed from Fiona. The other woman had been cagey with her personal information, seeming reluctant to reveal where she lived, which was why Rachel had suggested a public venue.

Rachel hadn’t been to this cafe before. It wasn’t particularly nice. It had big glass windows along one wall, offering a view of the car park. That could have been an advantage – enabling her to watch Fiona’s arrival – if Rachel had known who she was looking for. But Fiona had a picture of a sheepdog as her Facebook profile pic and her account was private. Rachel had told Fiona she would be wearing a green dress but Fiona had provided no corresponding information. In her mind, Rachel was picturing someone her mother’s age, but who knew?

They had agreed to meet at 11 am, and at twenty past, Fiona walked in. Somehow Rachel knew immediately that it was her, and she stood and waved.

‘So sorry I’m late,’ Fiona said as she slid into the seat opposite. ‘I went to the cafe across the street by mistake.’

‘No problem,’ Rachel said. She gave Fiona a quick once-over, noting that she did indeed seem to be around her mother’s age, perhaps a touch younger. She was nicely dressed, with a short grey-blonde bob. ‘I just ordered a coffee. Would you like something?’