I rarely see anyone at this time of day, but this morning, as I slow down, I see a slight figure leaning against one of the tallest oaks. It’s Hollie. When she sees me looking at her, she seems to shrink.

‘Hey.’ Slowing to a walk, I stop in front of her. ‘Are you OK?’

Standing among the oldest gravestones and clutching her hands, her white knuckles protruding from bunched-up, too-long sleeves, it’s clear she’s agitated. At first, she doesn’t speak, just continues to stare at her hands.

I feel myself frown. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school, Hollie?’

‘Does it matter?’ At last she speaks, her eyes darting around, looking anywhere other than at me.

‘Well, yes.’ I’m trying to sound reasonable. ‘You have exams to think about. You don’t want to miss too many lessons.’ Then I frown, realising that she seems irritated with me.

‘I can’t think about school,’ she mumbles. ‘Not now. There’s too much going on.’

The look on her face worries me. ‘Such as what?’

This time, tears blur her eyes as she stares right at me. ‘I can’t tell you.’ She turns away. ‘That’s the problem. I can’t tell anyone …’

‘I’m sure that isn’t true.’ Knowing she’s prone to overdramatising things, I try to sound conciliatory. ‘Why don’t you talk to your dad? You have a good relationship, don’t you?’ But as I mention him, her face takes on a stricken look.

She shakes her head quickly. ‘It won’t do any good. It’ll make it worse.’

Frowning again, I take a step closer. ‘Has something happened, Hollie? If it has, if you want to talk to—’

But she interrupts. ‘Please don’t.’ Her eyes blaze but her voice is desperate. ‘You have no idea. You can’t do anything. No-one can.’

It isn’t my place to interfere, but whatever’s going on, she should be at school. ‘Fine. It’s your life, but you need to think about the consequences, Hollie. You can’t just take days off whenever you feel like it.’ It comes out more sharply than I intended.

She stares at me. ‘What difference does it make? If you had any idea what people around here are doing …’

I frown at her, puzzled. What does she know? ‘What do you mean?’

Before Hollie can reply, Ida Jones appears from under the trees across the churchyard. As she walks towards us in a tweed skirt and quilted jacket that swamp her, a look of panic crosses Hollie’s face. ‘Don’t say anything to her. Please …’

Before I can ask her what she doesn’t want me to say, I hear Ida’s gentle voice. ‘How are you, my dears?’ Then her eyes linger on Hollie. ‘I didn’t know it was the holidays.’