And I imagined Willow thinking: I still don’t get it. Why Cecilia?

How badly did Willow want Zach to see her?

I bet she was willing him to look; like she’d willed him on Saturday night in the fire-pit to stop gawping at ‘dumpy’ Cecilia and look at her instead. But he hadn’t. He’d not taken his eyes off my gorgeous Ces all night.

And then he’d paid the price. They both had.

I had the urge to talk to Nella again; to confront her with the truth about her daughter.

Most importantly: had she opened what I sent her last night, the video link of the early hours after the street party?

In the link, a clip of Willow, bare-legged, clad only in a tiny frilly nightie, coming down the front steps of the house.

Zach, staggering, clearly wasted, trying to open the front gate; Willow pulling him back, wrapped around him, sinuous, sexy, pleading for him to come inside, by the looks of it. Zach, head down, like an old drunk man, stumbling back in with her.

Closing the door behind them.

Grainy footage: CCTV style, a time code stamped in the bottom corner, whirring past: 4.47 a.m., Sunday morning.

A van pulled through the frame – Heavenly Hot Tubs – and then another figure sloped into shot.

Marcus, dishevelled, yawning; the responsible father who’d said he’d been in all night, returning to his house.

Shortly after, the video flickered to a stop.

Where did you get this? I’d texted Fin back yesterday, when it came through after I’d left his flat.

He’d just sent an emoji in response.

The emoji? A shrugging man. No hearts and flowers from Fin to me. That wasn’t what we were looking for, I told myself. Either of us.

I sat in my car, a few metres from the Jacksons’ place, chewing the skin round my fingers, debating my next move.

I’d slept on Lynette’s sofa last night, glad to stay with Cecilia, to ensure she was all right.

But now I felt like, being here, I was too near Rex. Even though I knew he’d be at school, my palms were clammy as I clutched the wheel.

But I couldn’t lie that it was tempting to be near Fin, momentarily at least.

And as I prevaricated about confronting Nella once more, the electric gates slid open outside Bill’s house.

A black Mercedes 4x4 pulled out – tinted windows – and turned right to go past me.

Bill was in the passenger seat, cigar in mouth, sunglasses on the top of his head.

And driving it, as if I’d dreamt him into being, was Fin.

Nella

Truthfully, I’d always known Northgate High was a bad idea. I’d let Marcus persuade me for all the wrong reasons, and it was obvious the moment I got into the headteacher’s office we were going to have to move Willow again. No Rex Whitaker to cajole or bribe; even Marcus hadn’t bothered to come today, pleading work pressure.