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Esther looked at her father over the top of her crossword. As usual, he’d bought two copies of the morning paper, and they were having their monthly competition. It used to be a daily event, and she was out of practice. She didn’t want to be sitting here. She wanted to talk to Mum and find out if she’d heard anything from Rachel.
“Esther, I don’t enjoy winning if you’re not concentrating.”
“Sorry, Dad.” Esther forced her mind back to the task. It was hard to sit in the same room as her father. What kind of man not only never mentioned his older daughter but forced his wife to do the same? How had he stood up in the pulpit, week after week, with such secrets on his soul?
If she didn’t make some effort, her father would start asking probing questions, and she couldn’t risk being inter
