‘Would you take a seat?’ asked the policeman. Kate gave a minuscule frown, but she did as they asked. The PCs sat down too.

‘I’m police constable Simon Andrews and this is police constable Elaine Harwood from victim support.’

‘Oh, it’s not my fence though, it’s Iris’s. I’ve not had any trouble.’ Kate smiled and then she noticed that the two faces in front of her were different to those she’d seen out of the kitchen window that morning.

‘We’re here because of your daughter, Becky Ellis.’ The policeman paused and she saw he looked nervous. ‘I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you. Your daughter has been involved in an accident and I’m sorry to have to tell you that she has died.’

For a moment it didn’t compute. Long seconds went by while the words travelled round and round in Kate’s head. She looked from the policeman to the woman, but their expressions remained sombre and only then did something hideous begin to explode inside her. Pain and panic in a vicious ambush.

‘What?’

They didn’t answer, instead they were both looking at her to see how she was reacting, and she felt a sudden rising hysteria and anger at their subtle, microscopic observation. They were following the rules, their training, and she knew she couldn’t give in, couldn’t make it real. Don’t cry.

The policewoman spoke. ‘I am so sorry.’ She went to reach out a comforting hand and Kate flinched. The policewoman awkwardly withdrew.

‘Everything OK?’ said Tim, who had appeared in the doorway.

‘Is this your husband?’ asked the policeman.

‘I’m a friend,’ said Tim, coming into the room. ‘What’s going on?’

Kate looked up. ‘Have you left the chocolate melting on the stove?’ She got up hurriedly and headed out the door. ‘I need to check it.’

They followed her into the kitchen, watching her uneasily as she did her best to ignore them.

‘Miss Ellis, do you understand what we are saying?’ asked the policewoman, her voice suffocatingly gentle.

Kate felt herself get angry again: do they think I’m an imbecile? She looked at them directly for the first time. ‘I want to see her,’ she said defiantly. She didn’t believe them, it was a mistake. They agreed instantly, and their lack of resistance unsettled her.

‘See who?’ asked Tim.

‘Becky. They’re saying she’s dead.’ She saw him reel and, distracted, she wondered if she should put the eggs back in the fridge before she set off, so they didn’t spoil. She heard the policeman quietly repeat the news about the accident to Tim and then felt him take her hand and she looked up at him, confused and grateful.

They both followed the policeman and woman outside and the man opened the back door of the car for her to get in. Tim ran around the other side and got in beside her and she stared out the window the entire journey. It was pitch black now and still raining. The wind was blowing stronger. She remembered the weatherman saying there was a high chance of sixty-mile-an-hour gusts that night and she watched as trees buckled, resisting losing their branches. She watched as they fought to cling on.