‘That won’t happen,’ she says. ‘We give you our word that nothing you say to us – nothing, not one word – will be discussed with your mum, or your dad, or your grandpa or anyone else who knows you. You won’t have to show your face in court and you won’t set eyes on those men. And when we catch them, I’ll make sure your mum and dad come nowhere near the court while your case is being heard. They’ll know nothing you don’t choose to tell them, and if you choose for them to know absolutely nothing, then that’s how it’ll be. You’ll be anonymous to everyone except us and the judge. How does that sound?’

Evan blows his nose.

‘Could you agree to work like that, Evan?’ Rose persists. ‘I’m sure your mum and dad will understand. I’ve got kids and I know if any of them felt like you do, I would absolutely respect their wishes. Any mum and dad would. So if we talk to your mum and get her agreement, will you talk to us then?’

Evan looks at her and nods his head. Yes.

‘I’ll go and have a word with her,’ says Naylor.

Claire is sitting on a hard, lime-green sofa facing a window with a view of leafless trees and melancholy sky, asking herself how their lives ever came to this. The feelings she has – of unwanted disconnection, of loss of control, of fearfulness, of deep, aching love – she’s experienced before, though at a much lower pitch. She cried on Evan’s first day of kindergarten, and again when he had his first sleepover, on his first trip to scout camp and when he started his last school, which in relative terms was only a short while ago, but as things have turned out, was in another life. What came after that, while he was really gone, was wholly different. That was wailing, primal grief, which put anything she’s feeling today into telescopic perspective. What is it they ask in hospitals? The pain scale, one to ten. Today she’d give an eight or nine. The grief while he was gone, in the low twenties.

Now here they are, Evan’s first day in the Vulnerable Witness Suite. She’s fighting the instinct to run to that room, to barge in and grab her son’s hand and haul him out of there, and tell those women with him to send apologies to the Keslakes but they must get through it as best they can, as she and Matt did. Evan’s been through enough, God knows. He doesn’t deserve to be reliving it.

He might say that for himself. He might still refuse them. But just as she’s hoping that’s what he’ll do, the swing doors to the reception area where she’s waiting open, and Naylor’s walking towards her.