I see the cockiness that had been in Niall’s expression now mirrored in his father’s. Frankie Heaney feels powerful here. With his threatening tone and his jabbing finger, and his trembling son who is too terrified to stand up to him. Frankie Heaney is a bully. A dangerous man. He’s not the reformed character he claims to be. His tendency to violence, I can see, lurks not too far under the surface.

I realise, in that moment, that it doesn’t matter what I say. If I stand up for what I believe, tell Frankie Heaney and his threats to go to hell, he will do whatever it takes to silence me. Just like I fear he did what he needed to do to silence Jamesy, and Liam, too.

And if I agree to drop it, let Jamesy and Liam down, let Kelly down, too, I know that he will never believe me. He doesn’t want any of this getting out – and he’ll make sure it doesn’t. I’ll forever be looking over my shoulder for when he decides to make certain of my silence.

‘Well?’ Frankie Heaney asks, still jabbing, stepping closer, his breath rancid on my face, his frame wider, taller than mine.

He looks down at me and I wince.

‘Please, Ingrid,’ I hear Niall plead. ‘Just tell him you’ll let all this go.’

I also know one other thing. I’m sick of letting bullies win. From Ryan Murray and his smug manipulation, to this man in front of me who somehow thinks he has a right to get away with killing a child. And not only get away with killing her, but also with letting her body lie in cold water for days while her family endured hell.

A fiery rage rises up inside me. As Frankie Heaney tries to jab at me again, call me ‘wee girl’ again, warn me off again, I grab that finger and bend it back so far that he cries out.

‘Go to hell,’ I tell him in as low and menacing a voice as I can manage. Two can play at his game.

‘You stupid bitch!’ he shouts, his free hand reaching round to grab at my hat, maul at my hair, try to drag me down.

I feel the strands pull from my scalp, like scalding hot needles. My neck is at an unnatural angle. I try to kick out, to disarm him with a knee to his groin, but the ground is too wet and too slippery, and I lose my footing, his fist still grasping my hair.

‘All I ever asked anyone to do was to keep their stupid mouths shut,’ Frankie is shouting. ‘You’re not going to ruin this now.’