The video loaded. No titles, no intro, the film jerky like mobile phone footage. The angle was looking up towards Lucy, as if it had been filmed from someone’s lap, but she was close and clearly identifiable on the left-hand side of the screen. A wooden-panelled wall behind her – presumably the inside of Russ’s garden office – and a bottle of his favourite cognac open on a low table in front of her. Our daughter was slumped on a sofa, one strap of her low-cut top loose on her shoulder, angry spots of colour in her cheeks.

‘Alex fucking Bayley is a piece of shit.’ There are tears on her face and she is slurring a little, but her words are clear enough. ‘But he just gets away with it, without any punishment, because he’s this big rugby boy that all the girls supposedly fancy. I wish someone would make him feel the way I feel, just once. Just for a day, or an hour. Make him feel used and dirty and worthless, like he wished he was dead. I wish he’d . . .’ She waves a hand in the air. Her voice is wobbling. ‘I wish he’d fall under a bus. Fall off a cliff. Just fucking . . .’

She picks up her glass of cognac and drinks deep before slamming it back down on the table.

‘I wish . . . I wish he’d just fucking die!’

She puts her head in her hands and there is silence for a few seconds, a hiss of static on the video. The silence is broken by Jake’s voice, loud and close to the camera.

‘I’ll do it for you.’

She snorts, half a laugh, looks up.

‘What?’

‘Sort him out, if you want. I’ll do it.’ His tone is studiedly casual, full of broken-voiced teenage bravado. ‘Sounds like he’s fucking got it coming anyway.’

She frowns as if she can’t tell whether he’s joking.

‘Seriously?’

‘Ethan’s seen him out cycling on his training route. I know where he goes. You want him to have an accident?’

She leans forward, blinking fast, tongue flicking over her top lip. Takes another drink of cognac, sits back, runs a hand through her blonde hair. Crosses one long leg over the other.

‘Yeah.’ Her voice is detached, determined. A cold, hard tone that I’ve never heard before. ‘Yeah, I do.’

The screen went black as the video ended.

I sat for a moment, trying to process what I had seen and what it meant, trying to grasp the full scale of what our daughter had set in motion. Conspiracy to commit murder. Our daughter, our smart, talented, beautiful daughter. If this video ever got out, she could be implicated in a death. Prosecuted. Her bright future would come crashing down in flames.

‘Hold on, this video is already out there somewhere on the internet? How many people have seen it?’