‘I think of all the times I’ve read about politicians and celebrities, people coming off Twitter because they can’t stomach reading about themselves any longer, and I didn’t have a clue until it started happening to me last year.’

‘Any dickhead with a computer can have a voice now,’ Jai said. ‘That’s the problem. I don’t suppose they have the first idea what it’s like to be on the receiving end, having never done anything in their sad lives that puts their heads above the parapet. To have a go at you – someone who works so tirelessly to do the right thing.’

‘Wow, save that phrase for my eulogy. But thanks.’

We took the road up past the reservoir. The low water levels gave the impression that the huge spillways had grown, as if they’d sprouted up in the hot weather.

‘Jai,’ I said. ‘I heard a rumour …’

‘Oh God, is this about Craig?’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, yes, we had a minor scuffle, but he already had a cut above his eye. I didn’t do that.’

‘You had a scuffle? What is this – infant school? Did you hit him?’

‘He hit me first. And he was deliberately goading me. I think he wanted me to hit him.’

‘God, Jai. You can’t go around hitting people. What were you arguing about?’

‘I can’t say. I had a theory but he denied it.’

‘So you hit each other. And it appears you hit him harder than he hit you.’

‘He hasn’t complained about it. He already had that cut.’

‘So where did the cut come from?’

‘I don’t know, Meg. He won’t say.’

‘No, but his bloody wife’s been asking about it, and I get the job of talking to him.’

‘Okay, okay. It was pretty bad what I accused him of, but he denied it. Can we leave it for now?’

I was somewhat intrigued but didn’t have the energy to pursue it. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Just try to behave like adults, can you? Adults who don’t hit each other. Maybe adult women – they rarely hit each other even when things get really bad. Try to behave like an adult woman.’

Jai turned to me and frowned. ‘Fine, Meg. I’ll do that. Just for you.’

‘Right. Good. That’s settled. Where are we going?’

‘Back towards the village,’ Jai said. ‘There’s a road runs along by the reservoir and then down into the woods.’

We drove towards Gritton, the windows of its houses shining like glitter on the hillside, the swarms of reporters and rubberneckers looking like ants on spilled honey. I’d been told that Violet’s poor parents were down there, doing their own relentless and desperate house-to-house enquiries.

I diverted towards the reservoir. The abattoir formed a strange focal point for this area, always visible, sitting glumly at the base of the valley.