Jasmine tried to suppress her nagging guilt about what Mr Morrell had done. She had told the police the truth about what happened with her former teacher at the fair; she had always told the truth about him. But by the end of the interrogation she’d felt as though she were the one who had committed the crime. The constant questions: Did he touch you? What did he say? Did you accidentally make him feel like that? She couldn’t deal with that again. Jasmine knew that she hadn’t made him take his own life, if that was even what had happened. Even if Tim had done something to him, she refused to feel like it was her fault in any way. She hadn’t asked anyone to hurt him. She hadn’t wanted any of this.

She glanced up at the cliffs. Even though he hadn’t died here she could imagine him falling. How hard would it be to push someone off a cliff? And the pebbles below would put paid to any evidence on the skin. Not to mention Mr Morrell’s recent history. Suicide would fit, wouldn’t it? A nice, neat little box to put away and forget about, less scandalous than a murder.

Jasmine heard the crunch of the pebbles getting louder as someone walked towards her.

‘Jasmine? Can I speak with you a moment?’ Morrell’s fiancée asked softly.

Jasmine heard the voices of the people around them simmer to a whisper, all waiting to see how she responded. She could tell they would all be watching her, waiting to see what might happen, hoping someone was going to get slapped in the face. Jasmine glanced at Felicity’s vodka bottle and wished she had taken a drink after all.

‘OK?’ Jasmine said, sitting up.

‘I hope you aren’t being given too hard a time today.’

Jasmine was surprised by her kind tone; she had been expecting something else entirely. She wondered if she had any ability to read people at all.

‘It’s been a bit of a weird day,’ Jasmine said, not knowing what else to say.

‘If you need to talk then you can get in touch with me on my mobile. I know they really put you through the wringer last year because of what happened,’ she said, handing Jasmine a scrap of paper with her name and a number scrawled on it.

‘Thanks. I’m so sorry for your loss.’

‘He was out of order last year, I know he was. I saw the video of what happened. I don’t want you to think that what he did back then was OK and I also don’t want you to blame yourself for him taking his own life. He’s been depressed for a while.’

‘Thanks,’ Jasmine repeated, looking at the piece of paper with the woman’s name on it. Elizabeth.