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Peter pulls Victoria’s hood around her face to shield her from the cold wind. You feel it more up here – there’s nothing to protect you. I am starting to shake, teeth chattering.

Peter. Why is he doing this? I try to fill in the gaps so I can think ahead.

My phone rings. Nathan. Peter holds his hand out, beckoning for the phone, impatient. I try to answer it first but it doesn’t work. He snatches it from me and launches it into the lake. A splash, a few ripples and it’s quickly under.

‘I bumped into your mother in the town one day,’ Peter says. ‘Must’ve been fate because I rarely go to the shops. Judith does all that stuff. But I went in that day for some reason. The weather was nice and I wanted to be out of the house. That’ll teach me.’

He lets it hang in the air then carries on. ‘I saw her in the pound shop buying a load of old tat. Figures, doesn’t it? She was embarrassed when she saw me. Too right, she should have been embarrassed the state she looked. But old muggins here, I was glad to see her. Victoria’s anniversary was coming up, Judith was clucking around about it being in the paper. I was happy to see a friendly face. I’d missed her in a way. We always got on well, me and your mother.’

A scoffing laugh escapes from me. ‘So I gathered.’

He shoots me a look of disgust. ‘The thing is, I actually felt sorry for her.’ His turn to scoff now. ‘I felt terrible about how she’d ended up. Living like a pig. Can you imagine? It was disgusting but I felt bad! Me! So, I started going round there a bit. She wanted to get herself sorted out.’

‘Were you seeing each other again?’

He laughs at that again, a horrible, hollow laugh.

‘No, we were not. Aside from the fact that house made my fucking skin itch. How can anyone live like that? Aside from that, I couldn’t, could I? After the last time, I always felt that maybe I was being punished. And, if it wasn’t for us, she might…’

He knows.

I see my chance to get some answers of my own. ‘I used to think she really went jogging, out for walks, you know. My mum. I even do it myself. Pathetic. But she was meeting you, wasn’t she? All that time.’

‘Well, she certainly got some exercise,’ he says, an ugly curl of his lip.

‘When did you start seeing each other?’

Peter doesn’t answer but I can tell it’s thrown him off.

I ask him again.

‘It was before your dad became ill. The Christmas before. I did actually love her once, you know. I wouldn’t have risked everything like that if I didn’t.’

He grits his teeth, jaw set. ‘I was helping her, you know, I was round there helping her clean that shit tip of a house up. My skin was crawling. But I felt sorry for her living like an old bag lady. Turns out she got what she deserved. Maybe we all do, Sylvie.’

‘Victoria doesn’t deserve this, does she?’

But he refuses to catch my eye and it’s as if I haven’t spoken.

‘She thought I’d left one day, but I came back for something and I heard her on the phone, saying she needed to talk to you about Victoria, there was a journalist sniffing round.’

I think back to the voicemail she left me. I only listened to ‘It’s me, Sylvie…’ before hitting delete.

‘I walked in and her face said it all: it was pure dread. Don’t know why your dad couldn’t see what was going on, right under his own nose. She always was an open book, your mother.’

There’s an unexpected flash of jealousy in me at that. I don’t think I ever understood her; I barely scratched the surface.

I step forwards to try to take Victoria, but Peter snatches her to the side.

He goes on, seemingly talking into the air rather than to me. ‘I knew something was up after that so I bided my time. Then she wrote you a letter. Poor little Sylvie, so very far away. I saw it on the dresser and I thought hello and I steamed it open. How very motherly of her to look out for you like that, eh?’

‘What did it say?’ Maybe there’s still a way to get around this, I think. I could dig a deeper hole yet.

‘When I confronted her, she was flailing around like a hooked fish. She wrote that you should sit tight and “stick to the story” if Sam came knocking. She said it would all be fine. What a loving, caring mummy.’

I wonder what else it said, the letter.

‘Someone emailed the campaign website, not long after your Mum died. She said she’d only seen Victoria walking home, not you.’

I think of what Sam said in the hotel room, my mind trying to scramble ahead, losing its footing.

‘And I knew for sure then that that you knew something. I couldn’t let Judith see it.’

I can hear my own breath, loud and strange.

I’m surprised when he doesn’t push the issue, but the change of tack is even worse. ‘After, I found the locket in your room, squirrelled away like something to be ashamed of.’

I feel queasy thinking of him going through my things.

My mind is replaying what he said and a murky feeling in my stomach starts to swirl and curdle. ‘After? You said after. After what…?’

‘Do you know?’ Peter says, his voice bright as an actor. ‘Accidents on stairs kill at least two people every day in the UK. Women are more likely to fall. I heard it on the radio not long after, it was maybe even the next day. Funny thing that type of timing, isn’t it? You don’t think about something and then suddenly, poof, it’s everywhere. There’s probably a word for it, isn’t there?’

I feel like I am going to be sick. Sourness in my mouth, like I can taste all that death, all that rotting.

He’s supporting Victoria with just one arm now. It looks like she could fall. I have my hands out ready to spring.

‘She was always quite a limited woman in her own way,’ he says.

‘So why did you have an affair with her then? If she was so dull in your eyes?’ I can’t help but stick up for her, even now.

‘Because I was bored shitless, Sylvie,’ he hisses. ‘And so was she. She probably wasn’t getting it from poor old Michael, was she, let’s face it. You’ll see.’ He kisses the top of Victoria’s head. ‘Mummy will see one day, won’t she? Or maybe she already has. There’s no sign of Daddy, is there?’

‘Were you going to leave Judith?’

‘I couldn’t, not after Victoria. I couldn’t do that to her.’

‘And before?’

‘Probably not, no.’ His face is a sneer. ‘She didn’t die straight away, you know. She was in pain for a while.’

At first I think he’s talking about Victoria, but my brain catches up and I feel winded.

‘Yes, I “helped” her down the stairs. Then I didn’t tell anyone about it. Not going to get on your high horse about that, are you?’

I think of how long she was lying there alone, and after. How the body would have started to smell. My throat constricts and I gag.

‘She took a good shove as well. She’d stacked some weight on over the years. She used to have so much pride in her appearance, didn’t she? Proper little looker she was when she was younger. The noise your mum made when she landed.’

I think of that moment now, when the bone snaps.

‘I thought she might go through the floor. Talk about going down like a sack of shit.’

‘You killed her?’ I have to hear him say it.

‘An eye for an eye,’ he says. ‘Never was the religious type, really, but we all do Christmas, don’t we, so you won’t mind if I pick and choose.’

‘But Victoria’s death was an accident. I was there.’

His face tightens then, a straight, lipless smile. Now he knows I was there, if he didn’t already.

‘Please just give me the baby, Peter. We can talk, but please just give me the baby. It’s nothing to do with her. Victoria wouldn’t want this.’

He seems to ignore what I said, though. ‘The thing is your mother didn’t tell me the whole truth, but you’re going to, Sylvie. And remember I will smell the stink of it if you are lying.’