‘I don’t know,’ Mark said. He sounded irritated more than anything. ‘I’m going around there now to check it out. Listen,’ he went on. ‘I don’t know how long this might take. If I’m late for Corinne—’

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘If needs be, I can take her to the airport.’

‘You’re sure?’

Abi assured him she was. And when she hung up, Eva was standing there at the bedroom door, her hair mussed, zipping up her tracksuit top.

‘I can take Corinne,’ she said.

Strange the things she noticed. A fleck of lint on the lapel of Mrs Bracken’s black suit jacket. A dint in the wood panelling at the front of her desk like someone had kicked it, hard, splintering the varnish. A nick in the smooth skin of Sasha’s shin just above her sock – a shaving cut, perhaps.

Sasha’s legs were crossed, one leg swinging with impatience, her mouth tight with self-righteous fury. Beth sat demure, hands in her lap, reciting her apology, looking at Bracken but not really seeing her. In the same way she said the words but didn’t really listen to what was coming out of her mouth. Instead she was noticing the light falling through the window of the office, so bright and clear that morning, a greenish hue to it.

She said the words and Bracken listened with her arms crossed, a look of distaste on her face, like she’d ordered something at a restaurant and what had arrived at the table was exactly what she’d requested but it wasn’t quite right, somehow – it just didn’t taste the way it should.

Sasha huffed when Beth had finished, and Bracken’s mouth twitched.

‘I’ll say it better when I’m in front of the school,’ Beth said.

Ursula was waiting for him when he pulled the car up outside the little house on Beaufield Court.

‘I was going to call the police,’ she explained, hurrying up the path in Mark’s wake. ‘But then I thought it might be a builder, some tradesman you had in doing work. And you know, there’s been a lot of coming and going in there recently. Those schoolgirls coming by. And that man—’

‘What man?’ Mark asked, fishing for the keys in his pocket.

‘The bald man. Stocky. I’ve seen him here with your older girl.’

He stared at her.

‘I don’t know what they’re up to. But last night,’ Ursula went on, ‘there was some noise around ten o’clock. I went to bed, and it was silent. But then, this morning, all that banging started. There!’ she said, her eyes brightening with conviction, holding her hand up for him to listen. ‘Do you hear it?’