‘Come on, spit it out.’

Cath took another swig of drink. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like Ewan. But I think he’s very hard on you. He treats you like a third child.’

‘Don’t be like that. He’s put up with a lot from me.’

‘For Chrissakes, Julia, you had post-natal depression. You were ill. Ewan shouldn’t use it as a stick to beat you with.’

‘He doesn’t,’ said Julia, enraged. ‘He’s a good man. Look how he’s been with Poppy this past week. He’s been there for her, while I’m here getting pissed with you. Who’s the worst parent really?’

‘You need a break, there’s nothing wrong with that.’

‘She didn’t do it,’ Julia slurred, swaying perilously.

‘I know, I believe you.’

‘And you believe me about Imogen, don’t you?’

When Julia arrived at her door Cath had listened intently and without interruption as she vented her frustration that Siobhan seemed more inclined to believe Imogen over her, and that she was going to prove her child was no monster. It was only when she’d finished that Cath finally spoke – and in a few sentences she’d made more sense to Julia than anyone else had in the past few days.

‘Of course people will view the other mum more sympathetically,’ Cath had said. ‘She’s grieving the death of her only child. However you feel about her, you need to respect the fact that she’s lost her son – going on about the way she treated you at school right now makes you seem irrational and unfeeling, and I know you’re neither of those things.’

‘I can’t help it,’ Julia had protested. ‘When I think about how she treated me I hate her so much I can barely breathe. Her bullying really screwed me up – I didn’t appreciate how badly until I’ve had to face up to it.’

‘I understand that,’ Cath had remarked, ‘but the more you go on about it while this police investigation is under way, the more negatively people are likely to react to you. For Poppy’s sake, you need to put a lid on your anger.’

Julia wasn’t certain she could, but knew Cath was right and that she at least had to try. Then they’d gone outside to sit on the sun loungers on Cath’s decking as they drank.

Still standing, Julia shoved the borrowed pair of Cath’s sunglasses she’d been wearing onto the top of her head.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said, clamping a hand over her mouth.

‘Quick, inside,’ Cath yelped.

Julia staggered across the decking but didn’t make it to the house and threw up in a terracotta tub. Specks of vomit pebbledashed her dress.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, appalled.