‘That’s it,’ Steve said.
‘But it didn’t end there,’ Judith said, her eyes going from Alison to Steve and back again.
‘It did not,’ Alison agreed.
‘That night, when we were sleeping, Ruth went to the garage,’ Steve said. ‘She found my secateurs. The big ones I use to trim back the shrubbery. And she came to our bedroom and she—’
‘She chopped off the tip of Steve’s index finger,’ Alison said, shortly. ‘I woke up to him shouting and blood everywhere and Ruth just standing there, calm as you like. She wasn’t afraid or upset or anything really. I called an ambulance and I called the service. I took the secateurs away from Ruth, and by then all the kids were up and Miriam took Ruth away to their room.’
Steve nodded. ‘The thing is, after that Ruth couldn’t stay with us. We had too many other kids living with us. It wouldn’t have been safe. She wasn’t safe.’
‘So they took her away?’
‘She went to a mental health treatment facility,’ he said. ‘Miriam stayed on with us for a few months, but it was very difficult. Ruth kept running away. She came to the house a few times. She snuck back here at night. It was hard for Miriam. She asked to move, eventually. She said it was so that she could be nearer the place that Ruth was living in, so she could visit more often.’
‘Did you stay in touch?’ Judith asked.
Alison shook her head. ‘You don’t really, unless that’s what the child wants. And in this case... no. It was a clean break. I did hear from a social worker years later that Ruth got a place at university. I was delighted to hear it. I thought she must have turned things around. But if you’re asking all these questions, then maybe not.’
‘Did the social worker mention which university?’
Alison shook her head.
‘Did you have the guns when Ruth and Miriam lived with you?’ Judith asked.
Steve nodded.
‘And you kept the key in the same place? In your desk drawer?’
Again Steve nodded. ‘But the kids didn’t know about that. We kept that a secret.’
Judith didn’t say anything. From the look in Steve’s eye, she didn’t think she needed to.
‘Can I ask, did Miriam ever come back to visit you? Did she ever bring a boyfriend to meet you?’
‘No,’ Steve said. ‘I don’t think we ever heard from Miriam once she was moved on.’ His eyes met Alison’s in enquiry, and she nodded her agreement.
‘And you never heard anything more about either girl? About where they ended up?’
‘We got a call from a social worker when Miriam died,’ Steve said. ‘We were very sad to hear about it. But other than that mention of a university place, we never did hear a thing about Ruth.’
‘To tell you the truth,’ Alison said, ‘we didn’t ask.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
On Wednesday, Elsa gave Celine the day off. It was overdue, a make-up day for the extra hours she’d worked over the previous few weeks. Lola and Cam were at school, which meant that Elsa only had Doris to deal with. That should have been easier than having all three, but Doris was always a challenge when she was by herself. Lola had been so different when she was four. She’d always been happy to sit still with a colouring book and she’d been able to play for hours with Lego, whereas Doris needed to run, to jump, to build things and knock them down. Elsa appreciated that about her daughter, but she couldn’t turn her back for a second, which made it next to impossible to get any work done.
By eleven o’clock, Doris had finally run herself to a standstill, and fallen asleep on the couch. Elsa made a quiet cup of coffee and sat in the kitchen with her laptop. She had work to do. Child Protective Services had made an appointment with her for the next day. They’d sent her a bunch of forms to fill out and some PDFs about how fostering worked. It was clear that she and Nathan would have to jump through some hoops if they wanted to hold on to Cam—which they did. There was no way Elsa was letting that boy get sucked up into the system.
Elsa had only been working for half an hour when the bell for the front gate rang. She swore under her breath and hurried to the intercom. She pressed the button to turn off the bell and checked the camera. There was a courier waiting outside.
Elsa opened the front door and went to the gate. The courier was a woman. She was short, with a stocky build. She wore jeans and motorbike boots and a high-vis jacket, and she still had her helmet on. In her arms she carried a parcel.
‘Hello,’ Elsa said.
‘Elsa Anderson?’
‘That’s me.’
