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at her father, but he was far away, lost in his own thoughts. She looked back at her mother, hoping to placate her. She couldn’t know that it was entirely the wrong thing to say as she added, ‘And she asked about you, too.’
    ‘Wanted to know if I was still around, I suppose. Hoping I wasn’t. Hoping I was dead and in my grave.’
    ‘Mum!’
    ‘Betsy!’
    Jake and Fleur spoke together, shocked by Betsy’s hysterical outburst. Jake went on, ‘Now that’s enough. You’ve no call to—’
    ‘No call? No call, you say? Look at the lives she ruined with her … with her carryings on.’ The venom was spitting out of Betsy’s mouth. ‘But you still love her, don’t you? All these years you’ve never stopped loving her, and if she so much as crooked her little finger you’d go running.’
    Fleur gasped and felt the colour drain from her own face as she listened to her mother’s terrible accusations.
    Jake’s face was dark with anger, any sympathy and understanding gone from his expression. His wife was pushing him just a little too far now. ‘That’s not fair, Betsy, and you know it. I’ve always loved you and our children. I’ve done my best to be a good husband and father, haven’t I?’ He turned his head slightly and now his question included his daughter. ‘Haven’t I?’
    Fleur moved swiftly to his side and linked her arm through his, hugging it to her. ‘Oh, Dad, of course you have.’ She turned towards her mother. ‘Mum—’
    ‘You stay out of this.’ Betsy’s voice was still high-pitched. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
    ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I think it has. You see – I’m sorry – but I invited Robbie to come out here to tea this afternoon. And … and I said he could bring his mother if … if he wanted.’
    For a moment Betsy stared at her. Then she let out a chilling scream and began to pull at her own hair like someone demented. Jake released himself from Fleur’s grasp to take hold of his wife, but she struggled against him, beating his chest with her fists, crying and screaming, even kicking out at him. Jake winced as the toe of her sturdy shoe caught him on the shin.
    ‘Dad?’ Fleur raised her voice above the noise her mother was making. ‘Shall I fetch the doctor? Shall I call Dr Collins?’
    There was a sudden silence in the kitchen as the screaming stopped abruptly. But then Betsy began to laugh – a hysterical sound that was more chilling than her crying.
    ‘Oh yes, oh yes. Call Dr Collins – and his wife. Let them all come. Let them all meet. I’m sure Dr Collins would like to meet his—’
    To Fleur’s horror, Jake suddenly clamped his hand across Betsy’s runaway mouth. ‘That’s enough,’ he bellowed in a tone that brooked no argument.

 
Four
     
    Middleditch Farm lay five miles from the small town of South Monkford amidst gently rolling countryside. Robbie – and his mother, if she came – would have to take the Nottingham to Lincoln train, get off at the Junction and catch the little train that the locals called ‘the Paddy’ out to South Monkford. Fleur hadn’t dared to ask her father to meet the train. Not now. So, from the town railway station they would have to hitch a lift out to the farm. That afternoon Fleur walked down the lane some distance from the farmyard gate to waylay Robbie and – more importantly – his mother. Fleur frowned as she went over in her mind every little detail of her own mother’s frenzied outburst. Her father was tight-lipped about it all. He would explain nothing.
    Jake had released his hold on his wife, glared at her for a moment, then turned on his heel and gone outside into the yard, slamming the back door behind him. Betsy had stared after him, pressing trembling fingers to her mouth.
    Fleur had stepped towards her, holding out her arms. ‘Mum—?’ But Betsy had let out a sob, turned her back on her daughter and run upstairs to her bedroom, slamming the door just as Jake had done.
    Fleur had