My mobile buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see seven text messages from Jessika, my nanny friend, three missed calls, and several texts from numbers that I don’t recognise. I shove it back in my pocket without opening them, realising I have fallen behind and Dom is now several paces in front of me. I consider asking him about the previous evening, asking him where he was when he wasn’t at the hospital, but he marches towards the fields at a brisk pace.

I take long strides in order to catch up. Finally, I draw level with him. His face is grim, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth a harsh line scored into his face.

‘Dominic?’

‘What?’ He turns back to me, that angry, desperate look still etched into his features. His face softens. ‘Sorry, was I going too fast for you? I just . . . I just want to get there, you know? I should have been there last night.’

‘That’s what I wanted to ask you – about last night.’ I slow right down, a stitch in my side making me wince. ‘Where were you? You said you’d be here . . . and you weren’t at the hospital. And you asked me not to say anything to Fran.’

He stops abruptly, before turning to face me. ‘That is none of your business, Anna.’ His voice is cold, and it sends icy shivers down my spine. Dominic has never spoken to me this way before. Clearly, I have overstepped the mark, but he carries on before I can apologise. ‘Wherever I was last night had nothing to do with Laurel, do you hear me?’ He takes a step towards me, grabbing me by the upper arms, and I draw in my breath in a hiss of pain as his fingers dig tightly into my flesh through my jacket. ‘Are we clear on that? I’ve told the police where I was, and that’s the end of it. I don’t want to hear another word, OK?’ He lets me go, and I rub at the tops of my arms before I give a slow nod.

‘OK. I’m sorry.’ I swallow, fear making my throat dry. ‘I never meant anything by it. I’ll forget about it.’

‘Thank you.’ Dominic strides off again, not even attempting to temper his pace so that I can keep up this time. I watch him for a second, as he hurries past Mr Snow’s house, onwards towards the school, his head bent, and I run his words over in my mind again before I start to follow him. I’ll forget about it. I’ll try, but it will be difficult to forget the way his eyes flicked up and to the right, as he said he’d told the police where he was last night: up and to the right – a classic sign that someone is lying.