Chris’s story was that Angela had lunged at him, trying to kiss him. Appalled by the idea of being unfaithful, he had backed away quickly, capsizing the dinghy. Angela fell in and when she didn’t emerge, Chris dived in trying to save her. It was deep and the current was strong. It was too late. The lifeguards said that when they got there Chris was diving under and under, trying to find Angela, but without success. The lifeguards dove deep, found her and pulled her out. But she was already dead.

We came home in a state of shock. At the time, I believed Chris’s story. I went into a period of mourning for my best friend. I didn’t see Chris or Lucy for a while. The next time we had contact with them was when the hoaxes and threats started.

You see, that’s what they do. They hurt – or kill – someone you care for in order to make you weak. And then they move in for the kill. Your friend was lucky that he didn’t die. I imagine Chris and Lucy were rather upset by that. But you were still worried about him, and therefore you weren’t at full strength. You were still vulnerable enough for them to attack you.

Over the next year they waged a campaign of hatred against us. The letters and hoaxes I could put up with (in fact, as with yourselves, the hoaxes had begun before that trip to the beach – taxis turning up all hours of the day, which led to us being blacklisted by a lot of firms, and endless parcels). It was the other stuff that eventually drove us out.

They played recordings. Every night, almost all night long, they played these awful recordings of people whispering or screaming, talking or shouting. God, I can hear them now. On and on and on they went, getting inside your head until you thought the voices were actually originating inside your head. You could never quite make out what the voices were saying. Sometimes you could make out a line of dialogue, but because the volume was just too low, you started to make things up yourself. I thought I could hear Angela talking to me, asking me to help her, telling me she was still under the sea, drowning. Sometimes the voices sounded foreign, or they would let out ear-piercing screams in the dead of night. It was indescribably awful. Chris and Lucy had devised a way of torturing us, and it worked. In the end, we had to wear headphones in bed and listen to music. By then, though, it was too late. The damage had been done.