The living room was cluttered, too much furniture competing for space with too many ornaments, and a teenage girl sat on the sofa, half-buried in plush cushions. On the other side of the room, beneath the netted windows, a plump woman took up the expanse of a high-backed armchair, her skirt pulled up over her knees, swollen feet resting on a footstool. Her square face and short brown hair gave her a masculine appearance, and she watched Alice cautiously through dark eyes. “Come in. Don’t be shy. Grace, is it?”

Even from where she stood, Alice could see the woman’s face was scored with deep lines. “Yes. I’m sorry, Frank didn’t tell me your name. . . .”

“It’s Beatrice.”

“I didn’t tell you mine either,” Frank said, as he came to stand beside her.

Alice’s heart skipped a beat.

“You’re such a prat sometimes, Frank,” Beatrice said, and laughed. “She heard me calling you! Don’t mind me.” She grimaced at her puffy red ankles. “Things always get worse at night. It’s a good job I’ve still got Annie here to help look after me, eh?”

Alice glanced at the girl on the sofa; her eyes were like saucers, and they were glued to her.

“Sit down, love,” Beatrice said.

“I’m all right, thank you. I just wanted to say hello.”

She could feel Frank beside her, an unwelcome presence standing too close, and he had a sour, unwashed odor.

“Tell me,” said Beatrice, “what number are you moving to?”

“Two doors down, seventy-five.”

“Really, the Robinsons’ place, I didn’t know they were moving,” she said, glancing at her husband.

Alice let out a nervous breath. She’d never been a good liar—Ruth had taught her it was a sin—and now she wasn’t sure she could convince the Pritchards if she couldn’t even convince herself. “The truth is”—she swallowed—“I was looking for you.”

“Looking for who?” the woman asked.

“The Pritchards.”

The couple exchanged a look before the woman glanced over at Annie. “Can you leave us for a while, love?”

The girl rose ponderously and dragged her feet to the door, all the time with her eyes fixed on Alice.

“And stop slouching!” Beatrice shouted behind her.

The girl turned at the doorway to give Alice a small smile, then ducked out.

Alice took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to summon Eadie’s face, her smell, her newborn essence.

When Alice opened them, the Pritchards were staring at her.

“What do you want?” Beatrice asked coldly.

“I need you to tell me about your activities since you came out of prison, about all the baby farmers you know in London . . . or anywhere, for that matter.”

“Who are you?” Frank asked.

“It doesn’t matter, I just need your help.”

“And what’s in it for us?” he said.