There were my as yet unproven suspicions about who was behind these bloody emails about Beau shooting Marcus in the woods: the nasty texts, but no culprit – yet.

But it wasn’t that bad, was it, the Cecilia thing? Not really? a little voice said. Just an over-interested teenage boy who might have been a bit too enthusiastic.

I’d seen Cecilia at the party, and it was evident how much she liked Zach. I thought I’d seen my daughter actually shooting daggers at Cecilia at one point, but who knew what was ever really going on?

I did know that boys were always clumsy at that age. Inexperienced; inadvertently rough.

And men?

They weren’t much better. Manhandling and… well. Marcus was a good lover, it had to be said, but then, the truth was, I could barely remember the last time we’d had sex.

I was usually too angry with him these days.

I could dig out the French lace for his return, I supposed. I could make a really big effort.

On my way home, I sent Marcus the most loving message I could manage and, walking down to my garden studio, I also texted Melissa, to check our private lesson was still on.

I gathered the nastiest wettest bit of clay.

This Zach March thing would blow over too, once I’d made my point.

Once I’d showed Willow I was there for her.

And once I’d sorted out this stupid blackmail threat.

I positively chucked the clay at my wheel.

Although, of course, if it was that Zach boy sending the emails, as I’d started to think it might be, well, then he really would have to pay. I had a vague memory of him filming in the woods on that ghastly night, but then he wasn’t the only one with a phone, of course.

And yet, I’d heard his words in our house at the street party – the astonishment at our good taste. And he came from nothing.

Why would he not be jealous of everything we’d worked so hard for?

Why would he not want it too?

Melissa

I was surprised – extremely so – to find Willow leaving as I arrived home.

‘Oh, hang on, Mrs Whitaker.’ She retrieved an apple I’d dropped as I’d dragged the food shopping out of the car.

‘Thanks.’ I was already jittery and on edge from the illicit trip I’d just made.

‘It’s so awful about Ceci, isn’t it?’ She held the apple out. ‘Poor her.’

‘What is?’ I tried not to snatch it, but if I’d been a terrier, my hackles would be rising. For all her apparent charm, I felt something animalistic in her proximity.

‘I really hope she’s going to be OK. But I’m, like, totally here for her. Tell her to call me anytime, yeah?’

She practically skipped off down the path.

‘What’s happened?’ I made it through the door with my bags. ‘Is Ces OK?’

‘You’re late.’ A fuming Rex didn’t offer any help. ‘Again.’