While I wait for him to come out of the shower, I lift his uniform from his wardrobe. Today was a teacher training day but school starts again tomorrow. We should have checked his blazer still fits, he hasn’t worn it since he finished school at Easter, weeks earlier than study leave actually started, because he was too upset to face everyone. Too ashamed. He isn’t the only one. What happened has changed the earth beneath my feet and I still stumble against it. I’m trying to regain my footing.

I hang his blazer on the back of his door. The rules on sixth-formers wearing uniform might change now anyway. The head teacher – Mr Marshall – had insisted on it. He was big on appearances and results, but he won’t be there tomorrow – one of the mums posted on the Facebook parents’ group that he’d been sacked after what happened. I’m sure it’s the right thing for Connor to go back, to be with his mates, Ryan and Tyler, and have a semblance of normality again.

Perhaps I’ll ask Melissa and Fergus, Ryan’s parents and our oldest friends, if they want to come to Center Parcs with us in October half term. That will give us all something to look forward to. I grew up in the same street as Melissa. Ryan was born several months after Connor and the boys have always been close. We had such a great time last year. Mel whisking me off to the spa to relax while Fergus took Kieron for pancakes so Aidan could try the adrenaline sports with Connor and Ryan. They’ve both been so supportive.

With a change of scene, we might see a return of the old Connor. The one who joked and smiled.

I miss him.

‘Lucy?’ Aidan calls up the stairs.

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

It smells in here of teenage boy – Lynx and feet and a whiff of something rotten.

I cross to the window to crack it open. I can’t help sweeping my gaze up and down the road looking for the white car and, as I do, I remember the mutilated bird. The world is full of cars and cats. It could just be a coincidence but still goose bumps spring on my arms.

Just because I feel I deserve to be punished doesn’t mean I am being punished, does it?

There’s nobody around. Outside of the house on the corner where the new family moved in over the weekend is a mountain of packing boxes waiting to be recycled. I must take them over a bottle of wine and welcome them to the area.

From across the street, a movement behind the curtains. Is somebody watching me?