I saw Abebi on the street yesterday. She is growing tall. She must be eleven years old now. I waved at her, and she saw me, but she put her head down and walked faster down the street, away from me. She is the same age as my mother was when my father kidnapped her. I pull at my hair again, taking a fistful from my head.

Epilogue

Amanda, May 2022, Auckland Town Hall

I am happy. New Zealand is finally coming out of lockdown and I’m performing in public for the first time. God knows I have practised so hard for the last two and a half years, but my rapid antigen test is negative, the hall is fully booked, and Mum and Dad are here from Christchurch.

My two new uncles have come from Rotorua. I am nervous about meeting them, but we have had Zoom calls and they seem like pretty decent blokes. Mum and Dad are keen to meet them too. Kate is not coming. She is annoyed that I withdrew from her podcast series after all the work she put into it, but my backstory is so ghastly that I would rather keep it private. I never wanted to know the gory details. If I’m going to make it in life, I want to be known as a composer, not as the daughter of an abductee and a kidnapper. It’s all in the past.

The police have confirmed all of Kate’s research. I don’t know where my father is but I’m certainly not going to go chasing him. I’m not his victim, I never was. Kate can tell the story if she wants but she cannot use my name. The last thing I need is drama. To be a composer, I need peace and a piano. And that old teddy bear that randomly arrived in the post a couple of years back. He has become my lucky charm.

The house lights go down. I hear a hush descend in the auditorium. The spotlight appears on the piano. I step out on to the stage. No nerves. I place my bear on the lid of the piano. He smiles at me with his one eye. I smile back and nod to him, and there is a ripple of applause and laughter from the audience. I settle myself on the velvet-covered seat and raise my hands. It is time.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to the fabulous Marianne Gunn O’Connor, agent, mentor and friend; to Vicki Satlow, who has worked to ensure I am published in territories I couldn’t find on a map; and to Pat Lynch, who ensures smooth transactions with great diligence.

At Penguin Sandycove in Dublin, praise is due to my editor Patricia Deevy, the best in the business, who always sees the bigger picture and, with this book in particular, afforded me the time to get it right; Cliona Lewis, publicist extraordinaire, Michael McLoughlin, who helms a tight ship, and I’m also very grateful to Brian Walker, Carrie Anderson, Issy Hanrahan and Laura Dermody.

In PRH London, I am hugely grateful to Amelia Fairney, Ellie Hudson, Jane Gentle and Rosie Safaty in comms; copywriter Zoe Coxon; Sam Fanaken, Ruth Johnstone and Eleanor Rhodes Davies in sales; and Richard Bravery and Charlotte Daniels in the art team for coming up with this beautiful cover.

Karen Whitlock has proven yet again that I am barely literate. Her excellent copy-editing skills make me look good. Thank you.

For research assistance in so many areas, Christine Pride and Lynn Miller-Lachmann, retired State Pathologist Professor Marie Cassidy, CEO of Tallaght Hospital Lucy Nugent, vascular surgeon Bridget Egan, psychologist Aisling White, solicitor Peter Nugent, barrister John O’Donnell, educational psychologist Dr Mary Nugent, and fellow writers Kate Harrison, Adrian McKinty and Alex Barclay. If I asked for your advice, and then ignored it, please forgive me. I’m afraid the story had to come first.

For New Zealand expertise, I am indebted to Vanda Symon, Liam McIlvanny, Sonja Hall-Tiernan, Craig Sisterson, Jill Nicholas, Steve Duncan, Fergus Barrowman, and Faran Foley at the Irish Embassy.

To my emotional support people over the last two difficult years, I thank Sinéad Crowley, Jane Casey, Marian Keyes, Kate Beaufoy, Sinéad Moriarty, Claudia Carroll, Tania Banotti, Maria O’Connell, Bríd Ó Gallchóir, William Ryan, Ed James, Clelia Murphy, John O’Donnell, Lise-Ann McLaughlin, Anne McManus, Zita Rehill, Moira Shipsey, Val Reid, Sharon Fitter, Fiona O’Doherty and a special mention for Colin Scott.

To my emotional support place, the Tyrone Guthrie Centre and all of the fantastic women there who afford me the time and space and nourishment to write.

And definitely, deserving of a paragraph of their own, thank you to the superb booksellers, book bloggers, festival programmers, moderators, fellow panellists, TV and radio producers and presenters, librarians and audiobook narrators. If I named you all, there’d be no room for the book.

Readers, you have no idea what your loyalty means to me. I hope I get to meet you at virtual and real festivals now that the world seems to be open for business again. Thank you for waiting a whole extra year for this book. Life got in the way of writing for a while, and I’ll try not to let that happen again.