Sharon Evans ignored the reaction as a grand-looking front door was pulled open to her knocking. The house reminded her of a style she had seen in movies, like it should be lording over plantations in the deep south of America. Instead it was in the hamlet of River on the outskirts of Dover and close enough to the shallow rapids on the west side of Kearsney Abbey for the sound of the gurgling water to travel across the road.

Julia Kerner was the woman standing on the threshold with the look of unabashed surprise. They had been friends once, in as much as their daughters were friends, so they had all spent time together in the grounds of the abbey when their kids were young enough to need entertaining. Julia’s daughter was called Abbey – named after the view from her bedroom window. Callie and Abbey had stayed friends, even after their interests had moved on from wading through the low waters and chirruping at the movement of fish or being pushed on the swings.

‘Sharon! I didn’t think you were coming to these anymore.’

By ‘these’ she meant meetings of their support group. It was Julia’s idea to bring the parents together, and it had seemed like a good one when first suggested. Five kids had been targeted for their innocence, the same offender known to be responsible for wrenching it away, and the perceived lack of police action had left five sets of parents struggling to come to terms with it all. It was somewhere to meet, to be angry, bitter and understood at the same time. But Sharon had quickly developed a suspicion that the setup was all for Julia, that she just liked to be in charge while also being seen as a linchpin by her community.