‘Oh, gosh . . . I’m so sorry!’ I reach out a hand to steady the man I have walked into, lowering it as I realise who it is. ‘Oh.’

‘My apologies, too. It seems neither of us were watching where we were going.’ Mr Snow stands in front of me, a hat pulled low over his head, which explains why he also didn’t see me. ‘How are you, Anna?’

‘Um . . . OK.’ I feel flustered, not sure what to say to him. I know it’s not my fault he was brought in over Laurel’s disappearance, but what do you say? ‘You?’

He gives only a ghost of a smile. ‘Not bad. I hear you met my daughter.’

‘Yes. I . . . yes, I did. She was very helpful.’ I pause for a moment, feeling the heat of a blush rising up my cheeks. ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Snow. For what happened to you, for jumping to conclusions. You didn’t deserve it.’

‘Thank you, Anna.’ He is far more calm than I would be in this situation, if I’d been arrested for something I hadn’t done – I know that from experience. ‘Please tell the Jessops that I understand. And if they need to talk, well, you know where I am. I’m sure it won’t be long before the speculation turns toward them, unfortunately.’

‘Right.’ There is an awkward silence and I know that even if Laurel comes home today, things between us will never go back to how they were before. No more easy chats in the afternoons on the way home, no more lollies for Laurel. ‘I’ll let them know. I’m really sorry but . . . I must go.’

Eager to put some distance between us, I don’t wait for him to reply, I just head in the opposite direction towards home, his words ricocheting around my brain.

I thought that maybe before too long, some people would take a dim view of the Jessops – I heard that woman at the school comment on Fran’s make-up the day of the appeal, and there was that message left on the Facebook page – but I thought the Jessops were well-liked in Oxbury, and that they would have most people’s support. If anything, in the beginning, there was a constant stream of people all wanting to help, all wanting to be involved with this terrible tragedy that had befallen the glamorous Jessop family, but from what Jess says, things may be starting to change.

Lost in my own thoughts, I don’t notice the graffiti until I am almost on top of it. My feet slow and a swirling, nauseous feeling rises in my stomach. It looks as though Mr Snow is right, people are starting to take against the Jessops. There, scrawled in red spray paint across the back fence is the word, MURDERER.