Inside the hall, arriving townspeople, eager for a peek at this extraordinary turn-out, must run the gauntlet of camera crews. Each proffered microphone is badged – ITV, Channel Four, Sky, BBC Spotlight – and the reporters are hunting for screen-ready soundbites they can build into an opening sequence. I pause while Mitch takes charge of Evelyn, trying to catch just a flavour of some of these brief interviews, gladdened by this very special mix of courtesy and outrage. This is a reprise of my earlier conversations up and down the High Street. People are deeply unhappy. They’re protecting their turf. And tonight, God willing, they’ll make their feelings more than plain.

The event kicks off a little late, thanks to a problem in Mitch’s makeshift sound system. A retired BT senior manager locates the fault and restores the sound feed to the hundreds of latecomers outside. Bill, bless him, has laid hands on a supply of blankets from somewhere or other and I’m only too happy to help him pass them round.

Back inside the hall, the event has begun. Evelyn has prepared a set of opening remarks. She thanks everyone for turning out on such a cold night, especially so close to Christmas, and asks that we all try and limit our contributions to no more than a minute, once the debate begins. She then apologizes for the non-appearance of Mitch’s stand-up comic but reads out a message of support. It’s on the brief side, and just a tad cheesy. We all feel your pain down there, he’s texted. Viva Budleigh! This is met with silence until a lone voice, oldish, growls something about standing on our own two feet. Do we need support from London? he asks. The answer, dozens of voices this time, is an emphatic No.

Evelyn is getting in her stride now, walking the mic up and down the stage like a pro. She talks about living next door to Christianne, about getting to know her, about realizing what a special person she was, and then – after she’d disappeared – learning from her partner that she’d been diagnosed with motor neurone disease.