Just beyond their drive, the press are lurking. Anger flares in me that they can be so insensitive. Crossing the road to get away from them, one of them calls out to me as I pass. I make out one word – Hollie – running faster, not bothering to reply.

Further away from the village, I turn into the pine woods, taking the wide path between trees that stretch either side of me as far as I can see in neat, regimented rows. The air is cold and dry, without wind; just the occasional cry from a passing bird breaking the silence.

Beneath my feet, the ground is cushioned by a carpet of pine needles and I run faster for a couple of miles before slowing to a walk, pausing to catch my breath and stretch for a couple of minutes.

Breaking into a run again, I see a car parked a few hundred yards ahead. It’s familiar and as I watch the driver get out, I recognise James. Hanging back, I watch another car come into sight, one I don’t recognise. Not the press again, surely?

As the car slows down and stops, James goes over, leaning down to talk through the open window with the driver. I’m too far away to hear what they’re saying, but from his body language, the exchange appears to become hostile. Suddenly it escalates further and James starts shouting obscenities, then thumps his fist several times on the top of the car.

Behind me, a pheasant takes flight, shattering the silence with its distinctive call. Momentarily distracted, James fleetingly glances towards me. Quickly shrinking back into the shadows, I stay out of sight as I carry on watching.

After a couple of minutes, James is forced to step back as the other car drives away. As he paces back to his car, I wonder if this could in some way be connected to Hollie’s death. But if James suspected anyone, he’d have talked to the police. This must be about something else. But the question is, what?

Uncertain, I stay out of sight. I haven’t spoken to James since Hollie died and after what I just witnessed, now isn’t the time. As he gets into his car and drives away, I slowly come out from under the trees, then as his car disappears out of sight, I break into a run.

Carrying on, I head in the same direction the two cars took. Then, just before the track meets the main road, I see James’s car again, parked to one side. Through the window it looks as though he’s on his phone – pleading with someone – clearly upset. But then, he’s lost his daughter and has every reason to be. As I run past, I raise a hand in greeting, but when he sees me, he looks horrified, lifting his hand briefly in response before looking away.