I have to take back control of this situation and wonder if I shouldn’t just turn around, go back into the police station and tell them everything. Although I’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, there’s still so much more I haven’t told them, and I fear it’s those untruths that I’m going to spend the rest of my life running from if something really has happened to Jacob.

Or I could just start eliminating myself from their inquiries, but to be able to do that, the evidence needs to match the narrative.

My head pounds as I walk to the train station, the facts and theories tugging and pulling it in every direction, making me feel like I’m living somebody else’s life. I wish I was.

I try to pretend I’m on my old commute back to Whitstable and, as the train passes through the North Downs, I briefly lose myself in the banality of normal life.

The young man opposite, with bulbous headphones over his beanie hat, is playing out a drumbeat on his legs in time to the music. From his denim waistcoat over a black t-shirt, I’d hazard a guess he’s listening to something like the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He’s probably doing a history degree at Canterbury University, with a bar job on the side to supplement his marijuana habit.

He catches me looking and I move my attention to the girl two seats down from him. She’s tap-tap-tapping on her phone, her thumbs moving faster than I’d think possible, smiling at whatever she’s reading. She laughs out loud, before self-consciously looking around the carriage, as if surprised to find herself in the real world and not the one she’s created on the screen.

She’s rushing home to watch the new series of Love Island, whilst her boyfriend’s in the next room playing Call of Duty against a stranger in Australia.

Having made my stereotypical judgements, I pull myself up, wondering what a passing stranger would think my life looked like right now. Dressed in calf-length printed trousers and a white shirt, I probably seem like your average office worker.

My ring finger will give my enviable status away, telling them I’m in a secure relationship that’s meant to last a lifetime. I’m old enough to warrant perhaps three children, who are all currently being fed wholemeal pasta with an organic tomato sauce by their grandmother.