“There’s something else as well.”

I reach for my backpack and Jon shifts uncomfortably next to me against the cold, sharp shingle, but he doesn’t complain, he just waits as I pull out the brown envelope and pass it to him. Slowly he slips the carefully photocopied pages out of their envelope. He inhales sharply, his gaze leaps as he sees the word Private followed by Grace’s name on the front. He runs a hand across the cover and doesn’t take his eyes off it, as though worried it’ll disappear if he stops staring at it.

“Where did you . . . ?”

“It was at their place. It had fallen by her chair that day I found Meg. I made a photocopy before I handed the original over to Upton.”

Jon is slowly shaking his head, his whole face breaking into a wide smile. “You’re a bloody genius, Cara.” His voice is raised in excitement. I let out a little laugh. I don’t think anyone’s called me clever, let alone a genius, before.

“Seriously, picking up the diary and making a copy is—” but he stops talking because my phone is ringing. The screen says it’s Upton. I show Jon, he frowns, and asks, “You know why she’s calling?”

“I left her a message. I was going to tell her about GoodSam, just before I called you.”

For a second Jon’s face darkens, before he says, “Don’t answer, not yet. We need to think this through before we speak to her.” I like the sound of the “we” more than I like the idea of speaking to Upton, so I nod and mute my phone before dropping it back into my pocket. I can call her later. Jon looks back at the diary in his hands; the pages quiver with his excitement. He opens the first page, his big hand strange next to the love hearts Grace doodled in the margin. He allows himself to read the first couple of lines before forcing himself to stop. The shingle crunches underneath him as he stands, being careful not to bend the photocopied pages he’s holding.

“OK, I think we need to think carefully about what’s best for Grace here. What’s most likely to help her. For all we know, Upton might already know about GoodSam, we don’t know, but what we do know is that GoodSam has no idea who you are, who StillSearching is. That’s a huge advantage and one that might help us find Grace. You’ve handled this well, Cara. You really have.”

He smiles down at me, and I look at my lap so he can’t see how I want to cry and laugh at the same time. I know he’s being a bit patronizing, but I don’t care. I’m helping, that’s important. Jon keeps talking, and I don’t stop him, I want to hear more good things. I want to believe everything he says about me, want to believe I’m the clever, shrewd person he sees, not destined to live the same life as Molly and Mum and everyone else in Summervale.