Tearing at cellophane, she commits her anger to opening the packet. When the top tier of biscuits drops and smashes on the floor, she stares at the shards as if even the food in this place is designed to wilfully defy her.

She crosses the hall, kicks aside a bulging plastic bag and marches into the living room. Drawing a deep breath, she approaches Flo’s chair and calmly rights the portable tray so she can place the open packet of biscuits before Flo. As if confronting a dangerous animal, she maintains an arm’s length of distance during the procedure.

The old woman’s claw swiftly extends to snatch and seize a biscuit. Flo then nips at her prize with rapid bites. An unappealing, feral process that encourages Jess to back further away.

The biscuit consumed, Flo’s face is transformed by a faint smile. ‘I hope we can be friends. Cup of tea, mother.’

Baffled, Jess retreats to the kitchen.

Leaning over the sink, with her hands placed wide apart and shoulders slumped, she closes her eyes. As she tries to come down from the trauma and confusion of an awful morning, the melodious voice of a happy child out front distracts her.

Across the lane, a mother and a blonde girl around Izzy’s age, wearing the chic uniform of a private school, gather beside a performance car. A handsome, well-dressed duo bidding goodbye to a storybook grandmother who wears a wide-brimmed straw hat. Around the three generations of this well-heeled family, a garden blooms, framing perfection.

Jess turns from the window to consult the diary as the car pulls away. Once it has purred beyond Nerthus House, the elderly neighbour remains in her garden but no longer watches the departing car. Instead, she stares at the vicarage, the look in her eyes fearfully stern. Her teeth are visible, as if the figure with the perfectly still body is grimacing.

Though Jess is aware of the woman at the corner of her eye, her phone trills before she can meet the neighbour’s persistent gaze. She flinches as if struck or spat at again. ‘Christ.’

As the device rarely brings good news, Jess peers at her phone screen with a pained resignation until, sure enough, she reads IZZY SCHOOL lit up on the screen.

11

‘Sorry to bother you at work, Mrs McMachen.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t want you to worry. It’s nothing serious. But Isabelle’s with the nurse. She’s had an accident.’

‘What?’

From the phone jammed against her ear, the matter-of-fact tone of the voice bewilders Jess even more than the information the school receptionist is imparting. The woman might be mentioning a missing PE kit. ‘There was an incident with another child. The Head thinks you should come in. She’d like a chat. Can you come in this afternoon?’