'We can work it out on the way. My car's outside. We can be there in an hour if we get going now.'

I stare at him. My heart's racing. 'But . . . but I have to teach this afternoon.'

Lorcan raises his eyebrows. 'Then cancel,' he says. 'Tell them you're sick.'

I hesitate. I don't like to do that it's dishonest and it leaves the Institute in the lurch, but the temptation is strong. Anyway, with my mind all over the place like it is, I wouldn't be much use to my students.

'Why are you helping me like this?'

'Why shouldn't I?' Lorcan shakes his head impatiently. 'I'm not seeing Cal again until tomorrow. I've got no work . . . no auditions . . .' He pauses. 'Unless you don't want me to come?'

I stare at him. I feel almost delirious; scarily out of control.

'It'll take a bit of effort,' Lorcan goes on. 'And we'll need a cover story. But we can sort that out on the way too. Come on.' He's already halfway to the door.

'Wait.'

He stops and turns. There's something so powerful about his determination, so overwhelming, I can't think straight for a second. Then my head clears.

'D'you think it could be true, that Beth's alive?' There's a sick feeling in my stomach. 'Isn't this all a bit reckless?'

'So? I'm an actor. I'm allowed to do reckless things. And, yes, of course it's possible. You never saw her body, did you?'

'No, but, everything is stacked against it being true. It feels impossible.'

'So what? You need to know, one way or the other.' Lorcan smiles. 'Anyway, sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'

'Okay, Alice in Wonderland.' I can't help but smile too. Lorcan's face and voice are so utterly intent.

He holds out his hands in an expansive gesture. 'So, come on then,' he says. 'You and me. What do we have to lose?'

With a jolt I realize I feel alive. I can't remember when I last felt like this.

'Okay.' I walk towards him. 'Let's go.'

When I got back to my form room after Ginger Tall and Broken Tooth happened, Miss Evans saw my trousers. I pretended I had an accident and Miss Evans was nice and gave me trousers from the lost property box. But when I got home Mummy saw I was upset and made me tell her the truth. After, she was angry and shouting. She said that Ginger Tall and Broken Tooth were Bad People. She said that I am better than they are. She said I must get them back. That it would be good training because of the grown-up Bad People who might tell me lies and try to hurt me.

Mummy said she didn't mean things like kicking and fighting (or yelling 'Stranger Danger' if it was a grown-up Bad Person, though that was good too) and she didn't mean telling the teacher either. At first I didn't understand because I was so little. But then I realized she meant clever fighting, like when someone hurts you, you have to hurt them worse.

Mummy said that just because you are smaller than the people you are fighting against it doesn't mean you can't get them back. She said doing sneaky fighting against Ginger Tall and Broken Tooth was a good place to start and that I should think about a special way to pay them back.

So I did.

CHAPTER TEN.

Before we set off for Oxford I call the Institute and tell Sami I've got a terrible migraine and can't teach this afternoon. I feel guilty as I speak to her, but once I'm off the phone Lorcan distracts me with questions about which route to take. We spend the first part of the journey simply negotiating our way out of London, but once we're on the motorway I sit back and steal a look at him.

He exudes a quiet determination that I really like. Whereas Art is dynamic and forceful, all energy and purpose, Lorcan's manner is far more relaxed. He's managed to make haring off to Oxford to snoop round a hospital sound like the most normal thing in the world, a day trip to the countryside. And yet, in his own way, he's just as focused as Art.

'So tell me . . .' I say. 'You hardly know me, why are you helping me like this?'

Lorcan glances around. His eyes hold mine. 'I understand this, Gen. When Elaine and I split up she was mad as hell, threatened to stop me seeing Cal. We fought over access, everything. It wasn't sorted out when I had to go back to Ireland for the show. It ate away at me. I honestly didn't know what she would do: take Cal out of the country? Tell lies about me to the police? Tell lies about me to my son? He was only tiny at the time he wouldn't even have remembered me. I nearly went mad not knowing if I'd ever see him again, whether we would sort it out or whether she'd find a way of keeping him from me. Until you know for sure, one way or the other, you can't stop yourself going over and over it. Maybe this will happen . . . maybe something else . . . maybe whatever . . . So I understand you have to know.'

I nod, slowly. It's the hope that kills. Art has never really understood that. Thinking this reminds me of Art himself.

'What am I going to say to Art later? You know, if I'm not home?'

Lorcan pauses. 'Maybe you won't need to say anything. What time does he usually get in?'

'Eight or nine-ish,' I say.

'The guy's a machine.' Lorcan mutters, rolling his eyes.

There's a moment when neither of us speak. Something shifts between us, something to do with whatever is behind Lorcan's offer of help. I can't put my finger on it yet, but I know Lorcan's history with Art is at the root of it.

'You resent Art firing you from Loxley Benson, don't you?'

Lorcan's gaze is part-embarrassed, part-defiant. 'It's not that simple.'

Another silence stretches out between us. I want to ask him what he means, but something tells me he will change the subject if I do I settle back in my seat. I can send Art a text later, telling him I'm meeting a friend in town this evening. The chances are high I'll be back before he gets in from work anyway.

I gaze out of the window at the blur of trees speeding past. I know that I should feel guilty, that trying to track down Dr Rodriguez means I don't really trust Art . . . that, whichever way you look at it, lying to the Institute and planning on lying to Art about it is wrong. But I don't feel guilty any longer.

It's not just because of all the doubts and suspicions crowding my head. There's also a part of me I don't want to acknowledge that really likes the idea of spending time with Lorcan. It's the way his presence makes me feel anything's possible. Freeing me up. Not weighing me down. I even feel the once-familiar desire to write, itching under my skin. Maybe that, too, will be possible when I know the truth.

Once we reach Oxford, it's easy to find the Fair Angel maternity hospital. The building part Victorian gothic, part New Age glass and brick looks exactly as I remember it. The sight of the shiny brass handle on the front door sends a shiver through me.

In this place my daughter died.

Or was stolen from me.

It's not as cold as it was earlier despite the continued snow warnings but I shiver again. Lorcan puts his hand on the small of my back. It feels warm and strong, his fingers pressing into me. Part of me wants to move away the touch is too intimate. But I like it. The comfort of it. The strength it gives me.

I glance sideways at him.

'You ready to do this?' he says. 'You know what to say?'

I nod. Lorcan reaches past me and presses the buzzer. I catch a whiff of his smell a mix of wood-shavings and soap and something sharp and lemony.

A prim, female voice comes through the intercom. 'May I help you?'

I give the false name Lorcan and I agreed on earlier. 'I have an appointment to see Dr Rodriguez.'

'I don't . . . wait a minute . . .'

Lorcan and I exchange a look. A second later, the prim voice is back.

'I'm afraid there's been a mistake, Dr Rodriguez no longer works here.'

'But I've come all the way from London.' I let my voice fill with emotion. 'Please . . . I have to speak to someone.'

There's a short pause then the door buzzes.

Lorcan grins as he steps back to let me through. All this is his idea, the plan we worked out as we drove here in his smart black Audi. He still seems so relaxed and confident, a million miles from how I'm feeling. I'm deeply grateful. There's no way I could handle this visit alone or with someone less assured.

Inside it's hard to get my bearings for a second or two. Everything's been redecorated and remodelled. The reception desk is now to the left of the entrance and manned by a fifty-something woman in designer glasses, whom I don't recognize. Her gaze shifts from me to Lorcan. He stares back at her, a beat more than is necessary.

I gulp as the woman turns to me. 'What did you say your name was?'

I give my false name again. We've decided to keep everything other than my name the same as in real life. Lorcan insists that lies work best when they are as close to the truth as possible.

'I was a patient here eight years ago,' I say. 'Under Dr Rodriguez. I made an appointment to see him here today.'

The woman looks up from her appointments book, a frown creasing her forehead. 'I don't understand. Dr Rodriguez left here ages ago, before I started. I don't know who gave you this appointment. There must have been some misunderstanding.'

'Oh.' My heart's pounding so loudly I think she will hear it. There's no need to fake the vulnerability I'm supposed to display here. Tears prick at my eyes. 'But we've driven all the way from London.' I turn away, fishing for a tissue in my bag.

As I take one out and dab at my eyes I hear Lorcan's voice in the background. He's speaking very softly so I can only pick up the occasional word . . . stillborn . . . friend . . . closure . . .

As he speaks I glance over. The receptionist's face is softening, but I can see she's not about to give way. When Lorcan's finished, she speaks in a low, firm voice. 'I'm very sorry but there's nothing I can do-'

'But I made an appointment,' I sob. 'How could anyone have booked me in to see him if he doesn't work here?'

The receptionist pushes her glasses higher on her nose. She's looking flustered now.

'I'm really sorry if there's been a mistake.' She's running her finger down the open page of the appointments book. 'I can't see your name down here, but I could ask one of the other doctors if they could speak to you when they have a spare moment.'

'But it's Dr Rodriguez she needs to see.' Lorcan's voice is a perfect blend of firmness and courtesy. 'Could you tell us how we can get hold of him?'

'Yes,' I add. 'I'm sure he wouldn't mind me getting in touch. He always said he'd be happy to see me if I needed to talk.'

The receptionist smiles sympathetically. 'I'm really, really sorry but I'm afraid it's against our policy to give out home addresses.'

Lorcan lays his hand on the desk beside hers. 'Isn't there anything you can do?' he says softly. 'We'd really appreciate it.'

The receptionist gazes at him. 'Look . . .' She hesitates. 'I'll go and speak to the office manager. Maybe there's a way we can get in touch with him . . . pass on your details so he can contact you.' She smiles at Lorcan, then trots away out of sight.

'We don't want Rodriguez knowing I'm trying to track him down,' I hiss.

'It'll be okay, we didn't give your real name.'

I nod, then wander across the room. Through the glass doors at the back I can just make out the weeping willow tree I spent hours staring at during the hours immediately after Beth's birth. The birthing pod lies just beyond. It's so strange to be back here, among sights that are so familiar and yet feel like they belong to another lifetime.

A moment later and the receptionist is back. Another woman older and hard-faced is beside her.

'Hello?' The office manager stares at me without smiling.

Oh, God, it's the woman I spoke to yesterday on the phone.

'Hi,' I say. 'I'm so sorry to bother you, but-'

'And I'm sorry, but it's simply against our policy to pass on personal information.' She pauses, her eyebrows raised. 'It was you who called here yesterday, wasn't it?'

'No,' I lie, shame at being caught out flushing my neck.

'Really?' The raised eyebrows arch higher. 'Of course, if it was you who called, you'd know Dr Rodriguez doesn't work here any more and you most definitely would not have an appointment him, would you?'

My whole face is burning.

The office manager offers me a contemptuous sniff. 'Dr Rodriguez moved house soon after he left here,' she says with a stony finality. 'There was no forwarding address.'

Is that true? I stare at her pursed lips, the lipstick running into the lines around her mouth. There's absolutely no warmth in her eyes at all. The receptionist, standing beside her, looks mortified. She keeps shooting apologetic glances at Lorcan.

'I can only assume that if Dr Rodriguez had wanted anyone to be able to find him, he would have left some way for us to reach him,' the office manager says. 'But he hasn't.' She draws herself up to her full height.

We stare at each other. I can't tell whether the woman is simply breathtakingly officious, or whether she has been primed by Dr Rodriguez to fend off all enquiries. Then I realize Lorcan is tugging at my arm.

'Thanks very much for your help.' He nods at both the receptionist, whose face is still shrouded in embarrassment, and the office manager. Then he gently steers me outside.

The wind is up suddenly, cold against my face. I tug on my blue beanie as we walk down the steps in silence, back to the car.

'Guess we'll just have to track down Rodriguez some other way,' Lorcan says with a sigh.

I nod, my mind running over the possible options. I've already Googled Rodriguez and he's not listed in Yell.com or on Facebook or LinkedIn or the General Medical Council's register of doctors. What other ways of finding the man are there?

We reach Lorcan's car and I walk round to the passenger side.

'Wait!' A faint cry echoes down the street towards us.

It's the receptionist from the hospital, scuttling along the pavement. She reaches Lorcan and says, breathlessly, 'Oh thank goodness I caught you. I'm so sorry about that, inside.' She glances sideways at me and I sense she wants to speak to Lorcan alone.

I duck inside the car and pull the door to. Outside, Lorcan leads the receptionist a few steps away. They speak quietly together. A couple of minutes later, Lorcan gets into the car beside me.

'What was that about?'

'She was very sorry for you; wanted to help.' Lorcan sits back in his seat, a slow smile creeping across his face.

'But how?'

'She had a quick word with one of the nurses who's been at the hospital for years. Knew Rodriguez well, apparently. They're pretty sure he stayed local.' He raises his eyebrows. 'Came into some money, the nurse said.'