‘Not much. Just him coming out of his house. There were a couple of police officers either side of him, and they bundled him into a car that was waiting outside his gate. I don’t know if they actually arrested him, or if he’s merely “helping them with their enquiries”.’ She crooks her fingers in quote marks.

‘Do you think this is something to do with the reconstruction?’ I ask, my mind racing. How could frail, innocent-looking Mr Snow have anything to do with Laurel going missing? He’s . . . well, he’s nice.

‘I don’t know. Seems a bit suspicious though, doesn’t it?’

‘But he’s always so . . . friendly. So normal. I can’t believe . . .’ I trail off, not sure how to continue, as a horrific thought strikes me. What if this really is all my fault? What if Mr Snow is somehow responsible, and my encouraging Laurel to be friendly to him is what started it all? It all began because each day we would see him at his gate, on our way to school. I told Laurel to say ‘good morning’, and after a few weeks we went from a brief hello as we passed to a full-on chat every morning before we hurried up the lane to get to school before the bell rang. He gave her that tiny little doll. Oh God. I get to my feet, pushing my hair away from my face. ‘I have to go.’

‘Go? But Anna . . .’ Jess shakes her head, ‘you need to calm down – look, just sit for a moment before you go rushing off.’

‘I can’t, Jess. This is huge news – everyone overheard you, and I have to get home and see whether Fran and Dominic know what’s happened. They can’t hear it from someone else. They’re . . . things are fragile at the moment.’

‘Anna, at least let me walk you home, you’ve had a shock.’ Ella appears beside me and I look at her in confusion. I had forgotten she was even still here.

‘What? No, thank you. Honestly. I need to go.’ I want to get home, and I’m sure the last thing Fran and Dominic need is an old school friend landing on the doorstep. A look I can’t quite place crosses Ella’s face before she gives me a quick smile.

‘Of course. And I have a meeting to get to, so . . . I’ll catch up with you soon.’ Without saying goodbye, she turns on her heel and heads back towards the main table at the front of the hall. I hurry out and along the lane, averting my eyes as I pass the Snow house, but not before I catch sight of a police car parked outside and a flicker of movement at the window that tells me someone is inside, searching.