‘So tell us again, Seraphine, how did you come to be in the sports hall this morning?’ Police Constable Caroline Watkins had asked this question twice already. Her voice was high pitched and girly. She had her dark hair in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Her make-up was thick but immaculate and each time she repeated a question her left eye twitched.

Seraphine shrugged. ‘We were just bored,’ she said for the third time.

‘And you said the caretaker, Darren Shaw, followed you and Claudia Freeman?’

Seraphine nodded.

Watkins tilted her head towards the recording equipment.

‘Yes,’ said Seraphine.

‘And the pencil?’

‘It was in my pocket.’

Watkins looked straight at Seraphine. ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘From your Art class.’ The smallest of smiles touched her lips.

‘No,’ said Seraphine. ‘DT. Design Tech.’

‘Of course. My mistake.’ PC Watkins pretended to amend her notes. ‘So, Mr Shaw approached Claudia in the sports hall. You said she was in trouble. What do you mean by that?’ Watkins’ eye twitched.

Seraphine repeated her response, exactly the same as before. ‘He was holding her by the back of her neck and he had his hand down her top.’

‘And you’re sure this wasn’t consensual?’

Seraphine paused for a moment to consider what that little bitch Claudia might have said. They were friendly, but Seraphine knew Claudia resented her popularity. How far would Claudia go to undermine her?

‘Are you sure he was forcing Claudia against her will?’ Watkins said.

‘She’s fifteen,’ Seraphine replied, insulted at the implication that she didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘consensual’.

Watkins’s cheeks flushed.

Seraphine’s mother had been sitting in silence, as instructed – she was such an obedient sap – but now she spoke up. ‘What are you implying?’ she demanded, uncrossing her arms. ‘We are a good family. My daughter would never hurt anyone. This man frightened her and she simply defended herself.’

‘Is that right, Seraphine? Were you frightened?’ asked Watkins.

‘Yes.’

‘He let go of Claudia and attacked you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you lashed out with the pencil, in your own words, hoping to scratch him?’

‘Yes.’ Seraphine did not elaborate.

Watkins held Seraphine’s eye.

She doesn’t believe me, Seraphine thought. Dropping her gaze and hunching her shoulders, she sank down in her chair and picked at the skin around her fingernails. I’m a fourteen-year-old girl and I’m scared. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I was just trying to help my friend and now I’m being interrogated.

For a moment she worried she’d failed to pull it off. Maybe her posture was wrong or her expression not quite right. Police officers were trained to spot a fraud.