‘It’s your father’s stuff they’ll go through. I can’t imagine the police will want to look through your things.’ I look at Niamh more closely, taking in her anxious look. ‘Are you all right?’

She nods, but before I can ask her more, my phone buzzes again with an unfamiliar number. ‘I need to get this. It could be one of the lawyers.’ I answer the call, frowning as I watch Niamh slip upstairs.

*

An hour on the phone to Alison Wantley, the lawyer, to start divorce proceedings leaves me fortified. That I have an idea of where I stand and what to expect going forward gives me new strength. But also, now that Andrew’s being held by the police, there is no need for me and Niamh to stay in hiding.

‘You could go back to school tomorrow,’ I say to Niamh. ‘I have an appointment to see a lawyer in the morning to sign the paperwork. It won’t be long before things can get back to normal.’ I’m trying to reassure her, but both of us know that normal doesn’t exist anymore; that more time is needed to undo the years of damage inflicted by Andrew.

She nods, then suddenly remembers something. ‘I haven’t got any of my school stuff.’

‘I didn’t even think about that.’ I hadn’t packed her uniform or any of her books. ‘I’ll call DS May. Hopefully, they’ll let us collect it.’

*

Later that afternoon, the farmer, Chris, raises a hand in greeting as we get in the car. As we drive home to Abingworth, I realise the weight of what’s been hanging over me. For a brief moment, I can almost pretend nothing’s happened, but the feeling doesn’t last. When we turn into the drive, several police cars are parked there, including a white van. When we walk in, a man carrying Andrew’s computer passes us on his way out.

Niamh turns to me in horror. ‘They won’t want mine, will they?’

‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so. Your father never used it, did he?’ I notice Sergeant Collins coming towards us. ‘Mrs Buckley? Niamh? The DS said you needed to pick up your school uniform. I’m really sorry about all this.’ She glances back towards the house. ‘Niamh? I’m afraid I need to go with you. Is that OK?’ She speaks as if we have a choice, but I know we don’t.

Coming here has brought back too many unpleasant memories. ‘I’ll stay here,’ I say.

As I watch them disappear inside, it’s as if I’m standing outside someone else’s house. Several policemen go to and fro carrying what I imagine to be the contents of Andrew’s desk. Then a light goes on upstairs, in our bedroom, where no doubt the police will be going through mine and Andrew’s clothes.