The next couple of weeks were pleasantly warm and we spent our afternoons at the park. I pushed you on the swing or bounced up and down at the other end of the seesaw or played hide and seek in the bushes.

You were far more fun to be with than the other mothers and nannies who sat with hunched shoulders on the benches, gossiping and drinking their takeaway coffees. As I listened to your giggle and looked at your lovely, laughing face, for the first time in a long time, I felt truly happy.

I still worried about you. Some nights, I lay awake in bed until late, watching the shadows of passing cars swing across the walls and worrying about everything you’d said. About Mr Michael. About Catherine, your imaginary friend with stripy trousers and red hair. But at other times, during the day, my breathing eased. You were my life and now, tangled up with us both, there was Matt too.

He had made himself a regular fixture. We went out often – to dinner, to the theatre, to the cinema. Once or twice, to cut back on babysitting, he came round to cook. The days varied to match his rota but that didn’t matter to me. I was always here.

We found ourselves in that mad, heady phase of falling in love when we couldn’t get enough of each other, couldn’t stop talking, could barely tear ourselves away each evening. Was it like this with Richard, at the beginning? It must have been but I couldn’t remember it.

Slowly, Matt began a battle to win you over too. At the weekend, he sometimes took us both out. For an afternoon on a steam railway, run by volunteers. To a fun fair with a mini-carousel and dodgems. To a new petting zoo. He always had a surprise in his bag when we met up: a chocolate bear or a packet of sweets or a small toy. You seemed to love him as much as I did.

Some evenings, you specifically asked, as I tucked you up with your bear and kissed you goodnight: ‘Are you seeing Uncle Matt?’ Your voice was excited, as if you were pleased for me.

I didn’t push it. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel if he stayed all night and was still here at breakfast. Besides, I quite enjoyed the fact that we parted like teenagers in the small hours, sexed up and crumpled, sleepily kissing goodnight at the door. Somehow it was more romantic than waking up side by side in the morning with bad breath and messy hair. The time for that would come soon enough.

But through it all, the memories of the strange things you’d said just wouldn’t go away.

‘Can I talk to you about something? It’s bothering me.’

We were lying on the sitting room floor in each other’s arms, post-dinner, post-sex, under a throw. Matt’s body was strong and warm and smelt pleasantly of fresh sweat.

He tipped back his head to look at me. ‘What?’

‘This is going to sound mad. OK?’

‘OK.’

‘Gracie says she met a little girl, that time she went off and saw an angel. Mr Michael.’

‘When she was—’ he hesitated ‘—unconscious?’

‘Yes.’ I swallowed. ‘She calls her Catherine. Says she’s got ginger hair. Anyway, she said she was Ella’s daughter, you know, Richard’s girlfriend? I thought that was odd because she can’t have children. Richard told me.’

Matt tensed. ‘Does Gracie know that?’

‘I think so. She does now.’ I paused. ‘And there’s something else. She said Ella sent Catherine to Saint Michael.’

Matt gave me a sharp look. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘I don’t know.’ I paused. ‘Gracie’s very intuitive. I wonder if she’s picked up on something. Maybe a sense that Ella doesn’t like children. Doesn’t like her around. And this is her way of telling me.’ I considered. ‘After all, what sort of mother wouldn’t do anything to hang on to her own child?’

‘Not one like you.’ He lifted his hand and stroked the line of my chin. ‘You’re an amazing mum.’

‘I don’t know about that.’ I kissed his fingers. ‘Weird though, isn’t it?’

‘Very.’

‘Why would she say that?’

He lifted himself onto his elbow and looked down at me. His chin was dark with stubble. ‘How much do you know about Ella?’

‘Not much. Not really.’ I swallowed, tried to put my sense of foreboding into words. ‘I keep thinking… maybe this is Gracie’s way of warning me.’

He studied my expression. ‘Warning you about what?’

‘That she doesn’t feel Ella wants her. Maybe doesn’t even feel safe with her.’

He nodded. ‘You’re really worried, aren’t you?’

‘Maybe I’m being stupid.’ I hesitated. ‘But why would Gracie make it up? What if she’s right? If Ella does resent her being around? How can I let her spend weekends with them if I’m not sure?’

He kissed the tip of my nose. ‘Richard’s her father. He might not be a very good one, I mean, given what happened between you two. But he’s good with Gracie, isn’t he?’

I nodded, thinking of them horsing around, having fun.

‘So he’s got a right to see her, hasn’t he?’ His voice was gentle. I thought of his situation, denied access to his daughter. It was cruel.

‘He has.’ I paused. ‘But she hasn’t.’

His eyes were on mine, watching me. I saw my face reflected there, pinched and anxious.

‘I don’t trust her. What if she’s unkind to Gracie, as a way of getting back at me?’

He hesitated. ‘Why would she want to do that?’

I shrugged. There was hatred between Ella and me, there always had been, but I didn’t know how to put it into words. ‘I just don’t trust her.’

He sat up. ‘You really feel threatened by her, don’t you?’

I nodded miserably.

‘But you know what Gracie’s saying makes no sense. If Ella can’t have children.’

I sat up beside him, thinking. ‘Is there any way of finding out?’

‘If she’s infertile?’ He looked baffled.

‘Not that exactly. If she’s had a child. If Catherine could possibly be real.’

He widened his eyes. I reached out, put my hand on his shoulder and stroked it. ‘You’re a doctor. Can’t you get access to birth records or hospital records or something?’

He frowned, looked away. I sensed his unease.

‘Please? Just to put my mind at rest.’

He didn’t answer for a moment, then turned back and kissed me lightly on the lips. ‘It’s not exactly ethical. But if it means that much to you, I suppose I could try.’

He wrapped his arms round me and pulled me close to him. When he spoke, his breath was warm on my neck. ‘I’d do anything for you, Jen. You must know that by now. Anything.’

He got to his feet, padded through to the kitchen and came back with a pen and a piece of paper.

‘Write down what you know about Ella and I’ll check the NHS database. And I’ll ask Geoff too. He owes me a favour.’

‘Your brother?’ The police officer.

‘Keep it to yourself, won’t you?’ He gave me a sharp look. ‘He shouldn’t really.’ He paused. ‘Well, neither should I.’

He pushed the paper into his pocket, kneeled on the floor in front of me and stroked his hand down my thigh. I felt better already, less alone.

‘Try not to think about it,’ he said. ‘Until we know a bit more. Can you?’

---

Later, as he gathered together his clothes and got ready to leave, he said: ‘I was thinking. Maybe we could go away somewhere fun for a weekend. The three of us.’

I hesitated, trying to imagine it. ‘Where?’

He shrugged. ‘What do you think? Euro Disney?’

‘Gracie really wants to go to Venice.’ I thought of your eager face, asking where it was. ‘Something about meeting this imaginary girl again.’

He laughed. ‘Is that what she said? Love it.’ He was still smiling. ‘Hate to break it to you but it sounds to me as if she’s having you on.’

I frowned. ‘You think so?’

He nodded. ‘Not in a bad way. Kids do that. She’s a smart girl. She picks up on things. Maybe she’s heard about Venice somewhere and thinks that’s her best chance of getting you to take her.’

I wasn’t convinced. You always struck me as such an honest child. ‘Maybe.’

‘Gracie’d love Euro Disney. She hasn’t been, has she? Well, then. We could take the Eurostar, stay a couple of nights.’

He smiled down at me and I tried to smile back. I wasn’t convinced. Once you got an idea in your head, there was no moving you.

‘Or a posh hotel here, if you like? A country house with an indoor pool for Gracie and open countryside.’

I couldn’t answer. He drew me closer and kissed the top of my head, rocked me for a moment in his arms. Suddenly, he pulled away and looked me in the face.

‘You really want to take her to Venice, don’t you?’

I nodded. I was embarrassed. It felt ungrateful, but I really did. I thought it might settle you, lay all this to rest.

‘Well, it is a great city.’ He hesitated, looking down at me. ‘If it’ll make you happy, then sure. Let’s go.’

‘Really?’ I buried my face into the warm, musky creases of his neck and hugged him. ‘Thank you.’ Here was a man willing to love me and Gracie too. As if she were his own.

‘She’ll love it.’ He drew back. Our faces were almost touching. ‘All those boat trips. The world’s best pizza. Ice cream. No cars.’

When I kissed him, his lips smelled of coffee and red wine.

At the door, as he pulled on his coat, he said: ‘Let’s do it. I’m serious. Not this weekend – I’m on call – but the one after that.’

‘About the cost… I mean, is Venice expensive?’

He put his hands on my shoulders, kissed me lightly on the lips. ‘My treat. Doctor’s orders. OK?’

He was gone before I had the chance to argue, leaving me standing there, heavy with wine and food and sex.

In the kitchen, I cleared away and stacked the cutlery, the plates, mugs and wine glasses in the dishwasher. My movements were slow. My body still carried the feel of his fingers, his mouth. I saw my reflection in the dark window and lifted a hand to rake through my dishevelled hair. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes looked wide and brighter than they had for a long time. Since Richard left and I thought I was finished with all this.

I leaned over to sling the empty wine bottle in the recycling and, as I moved, I saw a sudden streak of light behind me, reflected in the dark glass. I span round. Nothing but a shadowy, empty kitchen.

I gripped the edge of the sink and leaned into it to catch my breath. I closed my eyes. I was tired, that was all. It was nothing. It must have been a shaft of light that bounced off the curve of the bottle.

But as I steadied myself, my fingers trembled with a more visceral feeling. A feeling that something of my father was there in the quietness with me, watching as I bowed my head and gathered my strength.

Venice, he seemed to say. Beware, my child. Beware what you may find.