‘I don’t know. I’ve just got a really bad feeling, Flick.’

‘Whatever happens, I’ve got you. OK? I love you, Jazz, and if they kick you out then you’ll come and live here with me,’ Felicity said before putting her arms around Jasmine.

The sound of crunching gravel outside alerted them to the arrival of a car, and moments later her father was sitting on the leather recliner opposite Jasmine, Felicity’s mother next to her, holding her hand.

‘What’s this all about?’

Jasmine couldn’t find her voice, didn’t know how to tell her father what she had found out and how she had even become suspicious in the first place. In the back of her mind she couldn’t help wondering if she could trust him, if she even knew him at all. He smiled his funny little half smile, the one he used when he knew she was anxious about something, the one that always calmed her down. How could she have ever doubted him? How could she have listened to a man she barely knew? She had to tell him the truth now, no matter what the consequences were. She remembered all of the secret interactions she had had with Tim and she kicked herself. Once her parents started questioning her then they would find all of it out and they would never trust her again.

Felicity’s mother squeezed Jasmine’s fingers before speaking.

‘Your lodger has been telling Jasmine all kinds of crazy stories and she’s a bit spooked, I’m afraid. She found some rather graphic photos in his room and …’

‘Why were you in his room?’

‘Does it matter? He had some really awful pictures, Dad. Dead girls, cut up, blood everywhere.’

‘In his room?’

‘I asked him what they were, and he told me he thought you killed his girlfriend, Rosa,’ Jasmine said.

Her father let out an involuntary bark, like the beginnings of a laugh.

‘What on earth would make him think that?’

‘He said someone saw her getting into your car. Said you were the last person to see Rosa alive. I think he wants some kind of revenge. I think he wants to hurt you and Mum.’

Her dad shook his head in disbelief, as if he were trying to wrap his head around what she was telling him. He opened his mouth to speak again at least twice but then stopped.

‘I’ll get us a cup of tea,’ Carol said softly before leaving the room. As if tea could in any way repair what was being broken here.

‘I think he did something to Mr Morrell, too. I don’t think he killed himself.’

‘Why do you think that?’