‘I think it’s only for a few days, but this gig doesn’t come with guarantees. And I don’t have their parents’ permission to haul them away for the duration. I don’t fancy being had up for kidnapping.’

Holly doesn’t smile. ‘If it’s too dangerous for me to stay here, it’s too dangerous for them.’

‘I don’t think it’s dangerous at all. I think I’m a paranoid bastard. Professional deformation, they call it. I want you at home so that any time I start getting panicky, I can stick my head in and look at you and take a few deep breaths. It’s for my sake, not yours.’

His smile down at her and the weight of his hand on her head make Holly want to let every muscle go floppy: shove her face back into his shoulder, fill herself up with his smell of leather and smoke and soap, daydream there sucking her hair and say yes to whatever he tells her. She’d do it, except for the things Selena’s got stashed in her head, ready to spill out ping-ponging all over the floor if Holly isn’t there to keep them battened down.

She says, ‘If you take me home, everyone’s going to think it’s because you know something. I’m not leaving Selena and Becca here thinking a murderer could come after them any time and there’s nowhere they can get away. If they’re stuck here, they need to know it’s safe. And the only way they’re going to know that is if you say it’s safe enough for me.’

Dad’s head goes back and he snaps a chunk off a laugh. ‘I like the way you work, chickadee. And I’ll happily sit your mates down and tell them I’d bet a lot of money they’re safe as houses, if you want me to. But much as I like Selena and Becca, they’re their own parents’ responsibility, not mine.’

He means it: he doesn’t think anyone’s in danger. He wants Holly home, not in case she gets murdered, but in case being around another murder traumatises her poor fragile ickle mind all over again.

Holly doesn’t want a lovely Daddy-cuddle any more. She wants blood.

She says, firing it at him, ‘They’re my responsibility. They’re my family.’

Score: Dad’s not laughing any more. ‘Maybe. I’d like to think I am too.’

‘You’re a grown-up. If you’re paranoid for no reason, that’s your problem to deal with. Not mine.’

The tightened muscle in his cheek tells her she might be winning. The thought scares her so she wants to take it all back, swallow it down in a great gulp and go running into the school to pack her things. She stays silent and stretches her steps to match his. Pebbles grind together.