Page 67

If you’d like to see your children again, do come to Trevethan House. No police. No phones. No dilly-dallying. I don’t have Dot’s number but do extend the invitation. xx

My heart clenches like a fist around a blade.

The message was sent to a WhatsApp group with me, Mina, Tristan and Lydia. I don’t recognise the number.

I read it over and feel my heart contract again, being sliced again, blood leaking, never reaching my lungs, my brain.

‘What is it?’ asks Father.

Mina turns her phone in her hand and shows it to him then to my mother.

‘How nice you’ve been invited, dear,’ says my father.

Mother shakes her head, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, goodness,’ she says, which is as strong as her language ever gets. ‘Oh my goodness.’

Silver sparkles dance before my eyes.

‘Let’s go,’ barks Tristan.