We sat in the corridor, mute with fear, me holding Zach’s hand so tight that he eventually pulled free.

The YOT officer came out to talk to us. ‘OK. So good news is, Zach will be allowed to go home for now.’

That was good news?

‘On bail, as he’s deemed low-risk. You’re not going to run off, are you, Zach?’ Jon gave a small smile to show this was a joke.

Zach shook his head. He didn’t smile.

‘But bail means there’s what we call a supervision package in place.’ Jon consulted his notebook. He had terrible acne scars on one side of his face from this angle, I noticed for the first time. ‘First and foremost, Zach must not leave London, OK?’

I nodded mutely.

‘And a condition of bail is that he must keep away from the alleged victim, at all costs.’

I clutched Zach’s hand tighter, the word victim piercing my soul. It was a measure of Zach’s own angst that he didn’t shake free again.

‘We understand that they attend the same school.’

‘That’s right.’

‘We have to ask you to keep Zach out of school and away from her – from Miss Whitaker – for now.’

‘I can’t go to school?’ Zach stared at Jon. I’d never have thought that this would be a consequence my son would actually mind.

‘Afraid not, mate. Just for the time being. Nor anywhere near Willow Jackson. You must obviously not miss out on any education though, so we’ll find you an alternative. Probably a place at the local PRU.’

‘The PRU? No way.’ I finally snapped.

Again, I had distinct memories of Alfie Goodrich being dragged to the pupil referral unit daily by his dad – and absconding almost daily too. Until the day his dad gave up, absconding further afield himself, permanently.

‘I’ll teach him myself, if it comes to that.’

‘Well’ – Jon smiled at us – ‘let’s hope this is all cleared up quickly, hey, mate? Soonest mended.’

I didn’t even know what that meant.

At the main doors, the weary-looking social worker patted Zach’s shoulder. ‘Try not to worry too much, Zach.’ She wasn’t at all convincing. ‘Someone will be in touch about what happens next. You may want to think about a solicitor too.’

On the way home, I tried to chat normally, but Zach just stared out of the window, as if the streets slipping by were the most riveting thing he’d ever seen.

‘Why do you think she changed her story?’ Turning into the estate, I pulled the handbrake up savagely. ‘Ceci, I mean?’

‘Dunno.’ Zach chewed on a thumbnail, staring at a man exercising his ancient terrier on the scrap of green by the bins.

I tried to hide my frustration; my desperation to understand what the hell was going on; what had tipped us into this perilous situation. At least they hadn’t mentioned anything about blackmail, and I sure as hell wasn’t bringing it up. ‘Give me your best guess then?’