I’m reeling. Unable to take in that Ava Millar is standing in front of us – alive – and yet somehow not here at all.
The boy – Isaac – moves in closer to her, and she puts her arm around him protectively and pulls him to her.
‘I live here,’ she says, coiling her hair around her finger. Her face is made-up beautifully – lips blood red, eyelids shadowed with silvers and greys. ‘This is my home,’ she adds.
Maxen steps forward from where he has been hovering behind Peter. ‘Ava, do you remember me?’ he says.
She narrows her eyes and shakes her head.
‘You helped me pick out some taps once at the DIY, didn’t you?’ He’s talking to her like she’s a frightened animal, who might bolt in a moment. ‘The kid is wearing my baseball cap, Ava,’ he says. ‘Who is he? Who’s the boy?’
She shakes her head. ‘I remember a bracelet.’ She touches her wrist, and I notice bruises on her arms. ‘I think you should leave, now,’ she says. ‘My husband will be home soon. He won’t be happy you’re here.’ Is that fear in her voice?
‘Your husband?’ I say.
‘And I must feed Willow.’
‘Willow?’ There’s so much wrong with this scene. It’s as though Ava is talking about a child. ‘Where is she?’ I cry, looking about me. ‘Where’s Willow?’
‘Her father put her in the basement, like he did me. Only for a while, until she understands this is the best thing for her. We’ll give her all the love she deserves once she accepts things.’
‘Shit,’ Peter yells, and pushes past Ava, almost knocking her off her feet, and Maxen follows. ‘Where’s the fucking basement?’ They open a door, and then another, finally disappearing, their feet thumping down steps. I go to follow, but Ava grips my arm.
‘I missed her,’ she says, but her voice is still void of emotion, her face chalk white, like a China doll. ‘My darling girl – my Willow – it’s so good to have her home.’
Suddenly the front door swings open.
‘Darling,’ Ava says. She looks at me, and smiles. ‘This is my husband.’
I swing round, and my eyes widen. It’s Inspector Jones.