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He could still hear the sound of her screams. It had been the day the long nightmare had begun, but he had not known it as he strapped her into the pushchair and took her out for a walk. It was a warm spring day and he had not bothered to fight with her to get her mittens on--there was really no need for them now--and they had walked towards the seafront because little Liljana liked looking out to sea at the distant boats and the little white tips of the waves when the wind ruffled the surface of the water. It had been mercifully quiet, too early in the year for the tourists who would soon invade the beach like giant, beer-scented lobsters, and too early in the day for the children to start pouring out of their classrooms.

She had been so good that he remembered letting Liljana out of the pushchair so that she could toddle about along the craggy limestone, safely away from the water's edge. She had laughed uproariously when he chased after her and repeatedly pretended to stumble and fall over, but she had laughed a lot in those days.