But then Watkins folded up her paperwork. ‘OK, that’s enough for now. We’ll take a break and PC Felix here will show you where the canteen is.’ Watkins looked at Seraphine’s mother. ‘Something to eat will help with the shock.’ Then she looked back at Seraphine, her smile warm. ‘And then we’ll speak again.’

Seraphine nodded. I’m a vulnerable teenager in shock. I’m a vulnerable teenager in shock. She found it helped to repeat the words in her head.

Watkins stood and turned away. Seraphine relaxed. This was going to be a breeze.

4

The second hand of the large consulting-room clock stuttered towards nine. Sitting upright in her chair, Dr Augusta Bloom watched it, feeling each tick bat away her anxieties, the things that might distract her from focusing on another person for a full hour. She knew this session would be challenging. She’d read the notes and knew what to expect. A traumatized victim called upon to defend actions that weren’t intentional but primal.

Tick.

Tick.

Fourteen. You should have one foot still in childhood at fourteen. Innocence should drift away, little by little: Santa and the Tooth Fairy first; then the realization that your parents are flawed; then that people can be selfish; and finally that the world itself can be unfathomably cruel. Childhood needs to unravel slowly so that the mind can adjust. When it’s ripped away in one brutal moment, it leaves behind the silhouettes of denial, anger and, ultimately, despair.

Bloom didn’t have the power to turn back the clock and remove the trauma. But she could try to amplify the light inside a child’s mind and turn down the volume of their distress.

Seraphine paused at the door to the small room and evaluated Dr Bloom. The woman sat in a high-backed chair with wooden arms. She had cropped hair the colour of oatmeal and wore black trousers and a green V-neck jumper that looked neat and smart. On her feet she wore flat black shoes; Seraphine’s mother would describe them as sensible. The psychologist’s feet only just touched the floor.

She’s short, like me, thought Seraphine. That could come in useful.

‘Hello, Seraphine,’ said Dr Bloom. ‘Come on in. Take a seat.’ She kept her hands in her lap, clasped around a small black book. She waited for Seraphine to sit and then continued, ‘How are you feeling today?’

Seraphine blinked a couple of times. ‘OK,’ she said. It was a safe answer.

‘OK,’ repeated Dr Bloom. ‘Do you know why your mum has asked me to speak with you?’

‘Because of the caretaker.’

Dr Bloom nodded. ‘You know I’m a psychologist?’ Bloom waited for Seraphine to acknowledge her question, then said, ‘I work with young people who’ve been accused of committing a crime.’

‘You work for the police then?’