The tour ended in a large curved conservatory at the back of the house that instantly felt warm. Tasteful wicker furniture surrounded a round table with a tray of cups and a large teapot wearing a brightly coloured cosy. Julia gestured towards it. ‘Help yourself. Ooh, I need to get some more biscuits! They seem to have gone down well.’ She chuckled like she was delighted with herself. Sharon watched her leave then picked out a seat against the far wall. She was aware that the hushed conversation between the six women in the room had died down the moment she had walked in. She looked up to a row of smiles, all of them laden with that same faux sympathy. Sharon didn’t know any of them very well but had the impression they all worked for themselves or in very flexible jobs. She remembered a conversation right at the beginning where they had all agreed to ‘clear their diaries for Mondays’, which suggested a lot more flexibility than she had.

What had seemed like a bad idea at the door was already feeling worse. Some of the faces were different and Sharon couldn’t even be sure which families were represented anymore. With only the women left, it felt more coffee morning than support group. Early meetings had been dominated by angry fathers demanding answers. By now they must have realised that they were wasting their time here.

Julia returned with a plate of cookies that looked baked rather than shop-bought. ‘So, Sharon, what brings you back to the fold?’

Fold. That was genuinely how Julia saw this too. A protective group – where she could be head protector.

‘Danny … He’s dead.’ It just fell out. It was like she needed to say it to someone and it even caught Sharon out. The sob that followed filled a room that had fallen into an instant silence. Then there was the faint scuffle of jeans against seat material as someone moved towards her and she was grabbed in a hug by bony arms.

‘Jesus, Sharon. Anything you need …’ was whispered in her ear.

‘Thank you,’ Sharon said. It was all she could manage. She knew it was a stock response from a shocked room but it still made her feel better. Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea to come here after all. She didn’t need to tell them any more; she didn’t think she could anyway. It didn’t matter, not in that moment. Danny was dead, that was all that mattered.

Chapter 38

‘Thomas! Not my Thomas … little Thomas!’ The shake in Richard’s hand was so bad he struggled to get it into his pocket for his phone. Operating it was harder still.