‘Yes, but you would have known she’d come looking for us, wouldn’t you? That she’d trace Gerry from the press coverage, which would take her to Eve, and then us. Did you come back to wait for her?’

Aoife’s silence tells me the answer. I stop digging.

‘What’s the matter?’ Aoife asks.

‘You never cared about protecting my secret, did you? About what her being here means for me. You just want her dead and all to yourself.’ I’m fifteen again, jealous, bitter about the baby. ‘You said she was ours.’

‘She is. But you gave her up, Mary, so I’ve come to take her back.’

When I don’t reply, she snorts. ‘You’re such a let-down, Mary,’ echoing my mother’s well-worn words.

I clench my jaw.

‘Dig that hole,’ she yells. ‘Dig that hole and give me my baby back!’ She’s shouting now, but I don’t move.

‘Our baby,’ I correct.

And then there’s a sudden absence.

‘Aoife?’ I stand. What can I hear? I glance up to the bedroom window and in a rare slash of moonlight, I see Joanne standing there, her face staring down at me with a whiteness that matches the moon’s.

We lock eyes. The sound is getting nearer, and as the moon goes back behind the clouds, an unnatural light floods me.

‘NO,’ I shout, ducking underneath the tree. I look up at Joanne, her eyes locked on the sky. This can’t be the end. And throwing down the spade, I race back towards the house.

Sixty-two

Now – Mary

I sprint across the garden and the helicopter finds me as I reach the back door. I glance up, the pilot and crew a patch of dark behind the beam of the spotlight. Slamming the door behind me, I run to the kitchen sink and reach behind the plumbing, behind the plastic bags and the kitchen rolls, to find the rolled-up cloth I stuffed there.

I pull it out and unroll the faded yellow duster, the weight of its contents filling me with relief. Keeping low, I move quickly from the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind me to shut out the light and their view.

I take the stairs two at a time, my eyes searching for evidence that Joanne has escaped from the room I put her in. But as I reach the landing I see it remains closed, the rope around the handle and the latch still firmly in place. I untangle the knot and push open the door to see Joanne by the window, her hands up against the glass, mutely calling to the pilot and his crew who circle above us.

I know she’s heard me but she doesn’t turn, so I walk slowly towards her, the gun in my hand heavy and full.

‘Get away from the window.’