Alice’s legs were still shaking as she made her way up the path to the Dulwich house, suddenly aware she didn’t know what to say, and had no idea what state of mind her mother would be in. It was unlike the last time she’d seen Ruth, when she’d spent the whole train journey in disbelief and with only one question on her mind: where was Eadie? This time she had dozens of questions, as well as the mental image of the Pritchards’ filthy home and the poor children they’d kept prisoner. She had the article in her bag along with others; if her mother wouldn’t believe her, perhaps she’d trust the black-and-white print.

Their family home was even less inviting than it had been the last time she’d visited, the windows dark shallow craters, muted light bleeding from the corners of the blackout curtains. She knocked and waited, listening as a door opened inside. The light came on, and her pulse grew faster as footsteps came toward her.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Alice.”

There was a rattle as the lock was unfastened, and the clink of a chain being lifted from its hook. Then the door swung open. Ruth stood alone, a silhouette in the dark hallway. “Alice . . . how are you?”

“Can I come in?”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

Alice suddenly felt calmer—much calmer, in fact, than she had on leaving the library, as if somehow being in possession of this knowledge gave her power. But as she walked past her mother into the kitchen, a knot tightened in her stomach as she looked around her former home and breathed in the familiar smells of beeswax polish, soap and tea.

Ruth followed her in and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed in front of her. Under the harsh white glare of the kitchen light, Alice noticed that the lines around her eyes had deepened, and how the slackness of her jaw dragged down the corners of her mouth. It unbalanced Alice, seeing her mother look so old—so vulnerable—and then she remembered why she was there.

“Sit down. I’ve got something to show you.” Ruth did as she was told, and Alice spread the articles out on the table in front of her. “You want to know about the kind of people you’ve paid to take care of your granddaughter? Read these.”

As she stood watching her mother, Alice wondered how many other parents had lost their children in this way, their lives cracking apart with the tectonic force of this grief. She wondered, as she had so many times since she’d lost Eadie, whether she would ever see her again or if she would have to accept a life without her. Her life was divided into two parts: before and after Eadie.

It was also divided into life before and after her mother’s betrayal.