‘The thing about girls like that is they’ve been brainwashed so much they can’t countenance any action without prior approval. O’Brian will have worn her down until every little thing she did required his permission. And not because she was some poor little victim – although of course she was – but because his love for her was the world. And however misguided that idea of love was, however wrong, she’d had no one else to tell her love could be any other way.’ Eve looked down at O’Brian. ‘Children without love goad their abuser into hitting them so they can at least feel a human touch.’ She looked to Nell. ‘It’s what we need. And we get it however we can.’

Nell looked at what was left of O’Brian’s head. That was some need for human contact, beating a man’s brains out.

She felt Paul behind her, unsettled, keen to get on.

‘You done with us?’ she asked Eve.

‘I’ll let you know when I’ve done the report.’

‘Thanks.’ She paused. ‘Odd it’s the father of the dead baby, don’t you think?’

‘Why?’

‘Well, they must be linked.’

‘Must they?’ Eve’s face was unreadable.

‘If they aren’t, that’s one hell of a coincidence.’

Eve smiled. ‘Coincidences do happen, Sergeant.’

Nell contemplated her for a moment. Yes, they did. But she’d never come across such a case, and she doubted this was going to be the one to break the mould.

Fourteen

Then

Our school uniforms are a mix and match of whatever the staff could find in the cupboard. Aoife is looking scornfully in the bedroom mirror while I pull my skirt down in a desperate attempt for it to be half decent.

‘I don’t know why you’re worried,’ she says over her shoulder, red hair tied up in a bun. She’s put on a bit of blusher and it lifts her whole face, making the blue of her eyes stand out even more. ‘Better a tart than a nun.’

She turns back to the mirror, turning over the waistband of her skirt until she seems satisfied, then grabs the hand-me-down school bag and rolls her eyes. ‘I mean, honestly, they might as well brand us with “Kids from the stinky care home” with all this lot.’

I feel the nerves that’d woken with me start to clamour for attention. I want to be going to my old school. I want to have new pens, rulers and rubbers.

Aoife throws a jacket at me. ‘What you thinking?’

‘Nothing.’ I don’t want to admit I’m frightened of going to school, but she must be able to see it because she pauses, then flings herself on the bed, tickling me until I think I’m going to wee.

‘Stop!’ I say, breathless. We are lying back on the bed and she grins over at me.