‘She’s cool. Actually, Mum’ – Ali chucked her phone down and stirred the remnants of her milk – ‘I’ve met someone.’

‘Oh, yes? A nice German Fraulein?’

‘American actually, from San Francisco. Amelia.’

My heart sank. ‘America?’

‘I see your face, Mum,’ she said, laughing, ‘but she hates it right now. So no worries about me emigrating anytime soon.’

They were separating from me so fast though, I thought, staring at my daughter’s gorgeous face. No one ever warns you about this bit when they’re born, and you’re trying to just get to the end of the day – that a time will emerge from the far-off future when they won’t want you at all anymore.

My own phone vibrated. I felt my stomach flip like it did every time it rang.

‘Hey!’ I picked up quickly. ‘Thanks for calling.’

‘It’s OK.’ But I could hear how fraught her voice was. ‘You mentioned the vicars?’

‘Yeah, I went round to see the Petersons.’

‘OK. And?’

‘Their daughter, Mary. She’s in Zach’s tutor group. She told me she thinks Ceci’s being bullied by Willow. Badly, by the sounds of it.’

There was a slow exhale of breath.

‘I’m not sure what Cecilia’s said exactly.’

‘Not much,’ admitted Melissa. ‘She just seems – devastated.’

There was a pause while I steeled myself to carry on.

‘Right. So I’m kind of wondering – maybe, did Willow put some sort of pressure on Ces? To change her story? Do you think – is that possible?’

I could have sworn Melissa almost sounded relieved. ‘I don’t know but – well, it kind of makes a bit more sense. Willow’s been hanging around a bit too. In a weird way.’

‘Leave you to it,’ Ali said and stood – I was struck by how like her father she looked as she mouthed, Going to grab a shower.

‘So, hon,’ said Melissa, and I felt a rush of my own relief at the real warmth in her tone. ‘What the eff are we gonna do about this unholy mess?’

Melissa

THURSDAY 5 OCTOBER

I knew I was alone, even as I woke; even before I opened my eyes; before I got up and padded into the living room.

‘Fin?’ I called quietly, but he didn’t answer – and I didn’t expect him to.

It made it easier really.

I put the kettle on, borrowed his toothbrush – mine had ended up in Rex’s flowerbed – and washed my face. I made myself a black coffee in a chipped mug and sent a message.

Yes, please, angel, came the swift reply.

I pulled my gym kit out of my bag and changed into it.

At the door, I paused. I went back; scribbled my number on the back of a Chinese takeaway leaflet on the counter. Left it there with a cheery ‘Call me sometime!’ beside it.

Then I left the flat, closing the door quietly behind me.

It was time to sort this mess out, once and for all.