It took a moment for Julia’s brain to catch up.

‘Fatally injured? You mean . . .’

‘Yes. I’m afraid he died from injuries sustained in the fall.’

‘And . . . and you think Poppy had something to do with it? That’s preposterous,’ Julia spluttered.

‘I’m afraid Poppy was on the wall with him when he fell,’ said Renshaw, her tone soft. ‘I have a witness who saw her. Now, I need to question Poppy to find out exactly what happened, with you—’

Julia’s shrill cry cut her short.

‘No, no, this is crazy. You must have the wrong child.’ She was overcome with dizziness. ‘It’s too hot in here . . . I’m going outside. I need some air.’

‘Mrs Hepworth, I understand this has come as a shock, but Poppy needs you.’

But Julia was already backing away from her. When she was out of arm’s reach she spun on her heel, the rubber sole of her sandals squeaking violently against the buffed floor. She was level with the door to the Welfare Room when it swung open and two women walked out. One was dressed in a vivid orange sundress but her demeanour didn’t match the cheeriness of her attire – her face was a picture of devastation, her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying. She looked up and as their eyes locked it was as though time had suddenly stopped.

Julia froze to the spot, breathless with shock.

The hair was different, far blonder, and the face older, but there was no mistaking who the woman was.

Imogen.

Panicked, Julia looked around for an escape route, like she was nine years old again and desperate for a hiding place where Imogen couldn’t get to her. She could feel Imogen’s gaze raking over her face and her skin blazed with a mixture of embarrassment and fear. Did Imogen recognize her after all these years . . . was she remembering what she did?

Before either of them could speak, Renshaw gestured to the woman who was with Imogen – a finger wag by her side as though she was signalling ‘no’ to a dog begging for a treat. The movement was subtle but frantic and Julia suddenly knew why Imogen was so upset.

‘Not your child –’ she whispered in horror.

Imogen held her hands up to stop her, fresh tears streaking her cheeks. Her companion put a protective arm around her shoulders.

‘Let’s get you home,’ said the woman, who was tall, with longish, honey-blonde hair and striking eyes. ‘I’ll call you later,’ she added in an aside to Renshaw, who replied, ‘Thanks, Maggie.’

As they walked away, Imogen slumped against the Maggie woman for support, Julia turned to Renshaw.

‘Please tell me it’s not her child who’s died.’

‘I’m afraid it is.’

Julia closed her eyes. The beginnings of a headache gripped her temples.

‘I know this is difficult, but are you ready to see Poppy now?’ asked Renshaw.

Julia ignored her.