The status that comes with owning a large country house is what first brought us to Abingworth, but I no longer care whether I own a house or not. What matters is that Niamh and I have our own space, one that’s free of Andrew. I imagine a small cottage, a little untidy, with second-hand furniture and maybe a cat – the opposite of our impressive, stark, toxic family home here.

As I take the path towards the church, I think of Hollie, and I’m struck by a pang of heartbreak that it’s too late for her. Her life is over, but Niamh and I are still here. It cements what I’m thinking. I owe it to my daughter to live the kind of life I really want for her. Anything less would be a betrayal.

I still have to deal with Andrew – the impenetrable barrier between me and freedom – but I won’t let him stop me. Too much time has already been wasted. I won’t be blackmailed into staying with him any longer. Once I’ve found a cottage and moved out, he can carry out his threats. I may lose everything, but it’s a risk I have to take. Otherwise nothing will change.

It will be OK, I tell myself. You can do this. You have to do this. The path beneath the trees is soft with layers of leaf mould that cushion my feet as I emerge from their shade to see someone standing across the churchyard.

It’s DS May. When I notice where she’s standing, my stomach turns over. Glancing over my shoulder, I think about turning around. I don’t particularly want to talk to her, but then she looks straight at me. Raising a hand in greeting, I walk towards her.

In a denim jacket, her long hair loose and slightly windswept, she looks younger, softer than she usually does. ‘Detective Sergeant.’ I can’t keep my eyes from wandering towards the grave she’s standing beside.

‘Mrs Buckley.’ She looks awkward all of a sudden. ‘I spoke to your husband a couple of days ago.’

Suddenly I’m numb. I stare at my son’s grave. ‘He told you about Dylan.’

She hesitates. ‘He did. It was actually James Hampton who told me first – about Dylan and Hollie.’ She looks at me. ‘I’m so sorry you lost your son.’ There’s compassion in her eyes. ‘I suppose it explains why Hollie was in the graveyard so much. Look, I’m sure you’ve come here for some quiet. I’ll leave you alone.’

As she walks away without saying anything else, a sense of powerlessness rises in me, followed by despair. Whatever Andrew’s said to her, it’ll be what he wants her to think about how Dylan died, rather than telling her the truth.