never go to her mother in times of trouble, fearing that any heart-to-heart would end in that well-worn phrase, ‘Well, dear, you’ve only yourself to blame.’ But this time, there’s no blame that can be attached. She’s entirely the victim.
Taking out her phone, she sees that it’s just gone eight o’clock. Early, but not too early to call. She doubts Mum has been sleeping anyway. None of them have had any sleep since Mabel’s disappearance. She pushes off and makes a U-turn, then hangs left.
But as she pedals with a revived sense of purpose, a new emotion starts to course through her veins: an ugly triumphalism. The instinct that drove her to her childhood home was born not out of a need for sympathy, but a desire to redress an ancient imbalance. She’s going to tell her mother just how appallingly her favourite daughter has behaved.
She turns into Faversham Road and starts climbing the hill. Lactic acid burns through her muscles, but she presses on until she reaches the top. The street is Sunday-morning sleepy – curtains drawn, cars resting in the driveways. Now that Amber and George have gone back to number 74, the media circus has left town and her path to the front door is clear. Ruby dismounts, removes her helmet and tucks the bike behind the wheelie bins. She doesn’t bother to lock up – it should be safe here, for a while at least.
Ringing the doorbell, she steps back and waits. After a few seconds, the front-room curtains twitch and her mother’s wan face peers out. She frowns when she sees her daughter and immediately withdraws. Ruby taps her foot impatiently. Is she going to be allowed in or what?
Just as she’s about to give up, the door opens. Her mother is still in her dressing gown, her naked face lined and drawn, her short hair poking up at odd angles from a restless night. Ruby’s never seen her look so old or vulnerable.
‘What do you want?’ she says, standing sentry with her hand firmly around the door frame.
‘I need to talk to you. It’s important.’
Her mother casts her a withering look. ‘I think we’ve said all there is to say.’ She starts to close the door, but Ruby rushes up the steps and puts her boot in the way.
‘George isn’t Mabel’s father,’ she blurts out.
Her mother gasps. ‘What? How dare you?’
‘It’s true, Mum. And there’s more. Do you want me to shout it out to the neighbours, or are you going to let me in?’
‘I can’t believe Amber would do such a terrible thing,’ her mother says for what must be the fifth time. They are sitting in the lounge, keeping a physical and emotional distance. Ruby draws up her knees and wedges herself into the armchair, while Vicky pulls her dressing gown tightly across her chest and folds her arms.
‘Yeah, I agree it’s not like her, but it’s true. She can’t deny it, the DNA evidence is there.’ Ruby gestures towards the landline phone sitting on its base. ‘Ask her yourself.’
Vicky waves the idea away. ‘Poor George … Does he know?’
‘I’ve told Amber to tell him today, otherwise I will.’
Mum shakes her head. ‘No, that’s not a good idea, Ruby. It’s their business. Keep out of it, don’t get involved.’
‘But I am involved! Amber cheated with my boyfriend, remember!’
‘Hmm, I expect he instigated it.’ Mum pulls a face as if an unpleasant taste has just popped into her mouth. ‘I never liked him much, if I’m honest. Always seemed rather a dodgy character, untrustworthy. Not Amber’s type at all.’
‘But my type, obviously,’ Ruby retorts. ‘Charming. And don’t let Amber off the hook. She wasn’t some blushing virgin; they’re equally to blame.’
Her mother pauses for a few moments, deep in thought. She frowns and pushes out her bottom lip. ‘Ruby …’ she says at last. ‘Do you think it’s all connected?’
‘To Mabel’s disappearance?’
‘Yes. I mean, if Lewis is Mabel’s father …’
‘He didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘How do you know for sure?’
Ruby hesitates. Yes, how does she know? Less than twenty-four hours ago she would have bet her life on his innocence, but now she realises she doesn’t know him any better than she knows Amber. He cheated on her with her own sister; what else might he be capable of? But it doesn’t make sense. The chronology’s all wrong. Lewis didn’t know he definitely was Mabel’s biological father until after she was taken. Unless he’s lying about that too …
‘You’re right,